Beyond the Secret Garden
by Elyzia
Summary: A story of love against all odds, spanning six years in the lives of Mary and Dickon.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to 'Beyond the Secret Garden'.**

**I originally wrote this story almost two years ago and this is a rewrite of the original. The original story 'My Secret' was written in the first person, whereas 'Beyond' is written in the third person. The reason for this rewrite was so I could write from the perspective of different characters - which I was not able to do from the first person. Hopefully, this flows much better as a story now.**

**A few of you may notice spelling/grammar errors in this story - some chapters were posted in a bit of a hurry, so please don't hesitate to point these errors out to me when you come across them! of course, you're also entitled to tell me what you like about the story as well (smiles cheekily.)**

**Happy reading!**

**xx Elyzia**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Choking back sobs, the young woman pelted down the shady gravel path, tears streaking down her blotchy face.

Long golden hair streamed out from her head as she ran – she had not had the time to tie it back, nor even the inclination. Her muddy boots beat out an even rhythm on the gravel as she ran, her feet taking her to the one place where she knew she would find the peace that she craved.

Twilight had caused the path to become dimly lit and shrouded in shadow, but she knew it well. She had walked down it nearly every day for the past six years.

As she ran, she flew past many exits coming off the path, through tall brick walls covered in ivy, which loomed ominously like sentries. She could have told anyone where these led to – to the kitchen gardens mainly – however, she was in search of something few would have noticed. She stopped halfway down the path, next to what appeared to be just another wall thick with ivy. Reaching through the strands, with the ease of practice she felt her fingertips trace over the familiar pattern of a lock. With trembling fingers, she then removed a well-worn key fastened to a silver chain around her neck, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes slightly, before inserting it into the lock.

* * *

'Where has that girl gone?' Mrs Medlock's voice thundered through the manor. 'I want her found at once.'

The housekeeper stormed into the servant's quarters, where most of the servants were finishing dinner. At the sound of her voice, all gossip ceased, the maids standing to attention. It was well known that when Mrs Medlock, senior housekeeper got her wick up, it was best to do as little as possible to provoke her.

A young man, seated in the corner of the room, turned his head up sharply, at the old housekeeper's words. He had a pretty good idea of who 'that girl' was and where she would be. Quietly, he eased himself off the low bench, and made his way towards the back door of the kitchen.

* * *

The Secret Garden had, primarily, been her discovery. Now, more than ever, she felt she needed the sanctuary that the garden had always provided. The young woman took one last, nervous glance over her shoulder, making sure that no one was following her, before entering through the ivy walls.

Once inside, she ran to the far corner, stopping where an old oak tree rose up next to the wall. Her fingers grasped the worn rope of the swing, which hung from one of its branches. She stood silently, willing her breathing to still. Her heart thudded in her chest, her mind reeling. Her fingers clutched the rope as if for support, and her mind turned, once again, to the previous events of the evening.

Mary Lennox was not usually a girl taken to sentimentality and emotional outbursts. However, the news she had just heard, from none other than the thin lips of Mrs Medlock, had rocked her to the core of her being.

_'You are to go to London to become a lady. You will be leaving in three weeks time.'_

She grimaced at the thought of their earlier conversation, then sat down on the worn wood of the seat, rocking herself back and forth. In silence she watched the orange glow of sunset casting its light across the garden, bathing everything in one final orange glow. It was still early spring, and the days were short. The air was crisp, the warmth of the day rapidly disappearing. She looked around the garden, taking in the beauty of the twilight. Feeling herself calm as she watched the sunlight touching the roses, and the tiny empress of India lilies that lay scattered throughout the lush grass under the trees. Everything was familiar to her, in here, everything was right.

'How can I leave this all behind?' she whispered to the breeze.

Surely, she thought, the old housekeeper hadn't meant it? Surely this was all just some terrible dream that she would soon wake up from? She rubbed her arm lightly. She had pinched herself over and over again, trying to assure herself that it wasn't real, that it wasn't really happening. Yet it was. _How can they do_ _this to me?_ she thought, feeling a sense of panic rise up. _You will be alone again... just like you were when your parents died in India. No friends, no family. Everyone here will forget about you, and life will go on without you – as though you had never come here. _

And then, of course, there was Dickon.

Dickon had been her constant companion, almost from the moment she arrived at Misselthwaite. She bit her lip now, as she thought about him. Tall, lanky, and with a quiet confidence and cheeky nature, he was the one person who knew her better than anybody. Dickon had helped her bring the secret garden back to life, who had taught her to find pleasure in nature, and the "magic" it created within one's self.

_What will I do without Dickon?_ she wondered. _And who will tend the garden with him when I am gone?_

The snapping of twigs brought her out of her reverie.

Mary Lennox swung her head up sharply, with the trained ear of someone who has spent many hours in a certain environment and has memorised every sound.

Dickon was approaching her from across the lawn. She found herself frowning at his appearance. He was not striding forth as he normally would, instead his hat was in his hands, and his head was bowed. She felt her heart jump up in her throat, and fresh tears threaten, as she watched the young man walking across the lawn to where she sat.

'Dickon.' she gasped, her eyes shimmering. 'I knew you'd come.'

His blue eyes shone with compassion as he looked down on her. Wringing his hat in his hands he answered rather nervously.

'I've just heard tha' news. I had t' see if tha' was alright. I knew I would find thee' here, in th' garden.'

She nodded, wiping away tears. 'Its the one place where I feel safe.' the lad nodded, and she continued, her voice rising. 'Dickon, they want to send me away!'

The lad's forehead furrowed with anxiety. Mary watched, realising that she had never seen Dickon looking quite that way before. _The expression looks queer_ _on him_, she thought.

'Is there nuthin' tha' can do?' he asked. 'surely tha' Uncle wouldn't send thee away? he's not an unreasonable man.'

'He was the one who arranged it in the first place.' she sniffed. 'He wants me to be with Colin in London. He said... he said that I am growing wild here, and that being in London will help turn me into a _lady_.' She emphasised the last word bitterly, her eyes flashing.

She saw him frown in consternation. 'An Mrs Medlock canna' educate thee herself? or he canna' hire a governess?

The girl shook her head. 'He wants me to be able to get out in society. Meet the right people, all of that rubbish! Dickon!,' she grabbed the boys arm and looked up at him, pleadingly. 'Please help me. I don't want to be sent away!'

He knelt down next to her, his voice gentle. As if he were talking to one of his creatures, she thought.

'Miss Mary. Nothin' is certain yet, aye?'

She looked up into his blue eyes, and saw only kindness and compassion. His voice soothed her, and she felt his hand on her shoulder in reassurance. She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. Why was it that Dickon seemed to have the power to make her feel completely at ease, regardless of the situation?

'You're right. My Uncle said it won't be for a few weeks. There is still time to change his mind. If I can only tell him how much Misselthwaite means to me then perhaps... ' her eyes searched upwards, watching the sunset. 'Perhaps he will allow me to stay.'

The lad chuckled. 'Tha' had enough power t' heal thy cousin. Perhaps th' magic will work again and tha' will be able t' stay?'

She knew he was making light of the situation, for her sake, and she appreciated it.

'Yes, Dickon. Let us hope that the magic will help.' she sighed. 'But given how stubborn my Uncle can be, I think I will need more than magic this time.'

His warm hand stroked her shoulder, and she closed her eyes, feeling stronger than she had before.

'Come Miss Mary.' he said softly. 'They are lookin' for thee back at th' house. Would tha' like me t' take thee back?'

She nodded. 'I'd like that, Dickon.'

'Tha is verra welcome.' he replied, smiling, offering her his hand. She took it, pausing for a moment to marvel at its warmth, and together they made their way across the lawn and back to the manor house.

'Could we...' she swallowed nervously, casting furtive glances up towards the front door of the house. 'could we perhaps meet in the garden tomorrow. I would like that. Perhaps then we would have more time to talk together.'

The young man smiled. 'Of course, Miss Mary. If old Ben agrees, I can meet thee here around noon.'

Mary felt a smile begin to form on her face. Suddenly, the following day which she had been dreading, did not seem so terrible after all. _If I can somehow manage to get through it until I see Dickon. The thought of him will help me bear it!_

'Thank you, Dickon. Thank you!'

She ran inside, before he had time to answer. Glancing back at the top of the stairs, she turned to watch the young man departing into the night, fading into the blackness of the trees that surrouned the manor house. He moves like a wild creature, she thought, full of grace and ease. As she wondered why she had never really noticed before, she turned and made her way up the remaining stairs, and into the house.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone,**

**So the re-write continues. So far, I'm really enjoying the re-write. I must admit, I have changed parts of it already. Is it still the same story? I'm not really sure. It feels as though it is morphing into something else... only time will tell for sure. I am enjoying playing around with the points of view, and getting into different character's heads.**

**The original version of this story, called 'My Secret', can be found at wwwdotelyziasfanfictiondotblogspotdotcom**

**Grayscales - thanks for letting me know how much the original fic meant to you. I hope you enjoy the re-write.**

**Unlikely Rose - Thank you for your positive and inspiring comments!**

**To everyone else - I hope you like this next instalment. Let me know what you think!**

**xx Elyzia**

* * *

**Chapter 2 **

Later that evening, unable to sleep, Mary Lennox lay awake, listening to the sound of the rain.

The rain had begun a short while after she had returned with Dickon, and now it was falling light and steady, drumming a constant beat on her windowpane.

Usually, the sound of the rain would have been enough to help lull her to sleep, but tonight she found sleep was far away.

She shivered, thinking wistfully of a fire which had long since gone out, and cast her mind back over the events of the day. The young woman was not surprised to find herself thinking of the smiling, trustworthy face of her oldest childhood friend.

Dickon had walked her back to the house, after he had found her alone in the garden. She remembered now, the feel of his arm – strong and sturdy like one of his moor ponies and how he had cheered her with his constant reassurances. _He is the only person who is kind to me at the moment_, she thought bitterly. _He is the only person who understands. _

Dickon Sowerby, she had to admit, now that she thought about it, had changed over the last couple of years. He had matured from a dreamy moor boy, with a penchant for wild creatures, to a capable and confident young man – now under gardener to Ben Weatherstaff. She smiled as she recalled his sense of humour – that was something that hadn't changed. She would never forget the first time she met him when he ate a live worm in front of her, even going as far as saying 'mmmm' as he did so, as if he had just eaten one of the finest delicacies known to man!

And yet for all his humour and quiet confidence, there was a sensitive side to Dickon. She had always known how much he cared for his 'creatures' as he liked to call them – never telling anyone where he had found a thrush's nest, and taking in an orphaned lamb, but his behaviour towards her this evening, had been the first time she had witnessed his softer, gentler side. _Perhaps I am_ _dear to him,_ she wondered, _like one of his creatures. _For an inexplicable reason, she found herself glowing with pleasure at the thought.

_Tomorrow, I will see him tomorrow,_ she reminded herself, knowing that sleep would be a long time coming.

The rain continued to come down.

* * *

Mary Lennox was not the only one who lay awake that night.

Archibald Craven lay in his grand bed, watching the last embers glowing dimly in the fireplace. For once his mind was not on his crooked back, or on the petty worries that owning a large estate entailed. Instead, he was thinking about his niece, and recalling their earlier conversation.

He had been meaning to give Mary a chance at a 'proper' education for a long time, but she had seemed so happy that he had let it be, promising himself every time that 'the next year' would be the one where she would begin attending school in London.

However, recently, certain events had brought his nieces growing maturity to his attention.

The servants of Misselthwaite were not known for their subtlety, and he had overheard snatches of conversations surrounding his Niece – how she liked to go into the Secret Garden alone, and the only person she would admit would be Dickon Sowerby, the moor boy.

Of course, this had been going on for years, but lately Archie had begun to get concerned about his Mary's penchant for the company of the young man.

It wasn't that he didn't like the Sowerbys, God forbid! Dickon Sowerby's Mother, Susan Sowerby had been a great friend of his wife's. He just had to admit to himself that Mary was growing up. She was almost sixteen, and in a few years time, would be settling down and getting married.

'The girl is simply too wild, sir.' His dutiful housekeeper had pointed out to him a few months hence, frowning at the appearance of her young mistress. 'Perhaps she needs t' be sent away so she can learn proper manners? There is not much for children here. If you'll beg my pardon for saying so sir, but perhaps you've grown too fond of the girl?'

At the time, Archie had felt a huge dilemma in the thought of sending her away. _She does so love it here_, he had mused to himself. _What harm can there be in allowing her to stay? _She reminded him so much of his Lilias – lost to him so long ago. It was in the glow of her cheeks, of her unruly hair which fell to the small of her back. His Housekeeper was right – he had grown too fond of her, and this had blinded him to the reality of the situation. Mary Lennox had been born into the gentry, she would one day become a woman of means, and therefore it was time for her to be introduced into society – to learn the skills that a woman of her standing would require. He had therefore decided to send her to London, to stay with her cousin and the Sutherland family – old family friends who had affirmed to him that they would do everything in their power to morph young Miss Mary Lennox from a wild creature into a young lady they could all be proud of.

Archie sighed and closed his eyes, willing himself not to think of the happy and carefree young woman who ran through the gardens with ease, with her hair blowing free behind her, her cheeks rosy with merriment.

* * *

_The news of my departure began innocently enough_, Mary thought ironically.

It had all begun over a cup of tea and a warm muffin, served by the fireside in her Uncle's study.

'Mary, you know that Dr Sutherland's daughter, Samantha, is your age and will be entering society at the end of this year, once she turns sixteen.' Her Uncle had said, staring at her over the rim of his tea-cup.

'Yes Uncle', she had replied, wondering why he was bringing up the Sutherland's, of all people. Mary knew very little of the Sutherland family, apart from the fact that they lived in London, and that Colin lived with them. She had never really cared to know much else.

'You know Mary, when your parents died, I was appointed your legal guardian – and as such, it is my responsibility to see that you are cared for in the correct manner, and given a thorough education. Mary, I'm afraid that I have not been fulfilling the obligations to your parents in a major respect – that of preparing you for entering your place in society, as other young women begin to do at your age.'

Was it her imagination, or did her Uncle look uncomfortable? she wondered. _Perhaps he is trying to tell me he wants to get me a governess,_ she thought, shuddering.

'I'm not like other young women.' she had snapped back. 'And I certainly don't want or need a governess. How dull!'

She sat back in her chair, eyeing her Uncle warily. Suddenly the muffin she had been eating did not taste so nice any longer, and she set it down on her plate.

'I was not talking about getting you a governess, Mary. I merely wished to tell you what a ... yes, what a pity it is, that you are stuck out here.' The older man said, making a sweeping gesture with his hands 'In the middle of nowhere, while other young ladies are given the opportunity to present themselves to society. I must tell you, I know that your parents would have been very upset to think that their daughter was still running wild at the age of almost sixteen years.'

'What do I care what my parents would have thought?' She retorted. 'They never cared about me, they only wished that I would go away so they could continue with their parties. Besides,' she found her voice rising 'they're dead!'

She saw her Uncle flinch at the mention of her departed parents, and she immediately felt sorry. Not sorry that she had said it, but sorry that he should hear it and that it had hurt him.

He set his cup down, and leaned closer to her.

'My dear girl, please, don't make this more difficult than it has to be. You are growing up, you are no longer a child. You must learn how to behave like a lady... I'm... I'm sorry.' he finished, softly.

Mary felt tears spring to her eyes.

'What do you mean, Uncle?'

'I mean...' he took a deep breath ...'you are to depart for London in three weeks hence. It is only in such an environment that you will develop the necessary skills.'

'London?' She said, barely breathing.

'Yes, you will be staying with the Sutherland family, and with your Cousin. You will attend a finishing school their – it has been all arranged. It is something that most young women of your standing do, so I hear. The Sutherland family have a daughter of a similar age to you, who will also be -'

'Stop! I don't want to hear any more!' she cried. 'You can't make me go! I won't go!'

Without noticing what she was doing, she jumped up from her seat, and made towards the door, her eyes blazing with anger. If Mary had still been in India, her Ayah's would have known this was the time to stay out of her way.

'Mary, you must go. It is all arranged.'

'No! I won't! you'll have to drag me there!' Now her tears were falling freely, streaming down her face and over her blotchy cheeks. 'Oh please don't make me go! don't... don't take me away from the one thing I truly love!'

With one final sob, she left her Uncle in startled silence, pushed the door open, and found her feet taking her towards the one place she knew she could find peace.

* * *

Mary Lennox awoke to the sound of head housekeeper, Mrs Medlock, talking in conspiratorial whispers to one of the chambermaids.

She grimaced as she woke, her head felt heavy, as though it had been stuffed full of cotton wool. She hadn't realised she'd drifted off, but was certain that she couldn't have got more than a few hours sleep. What are they talking about? the girl thought, irritably.

'Now this gown.' she heard the old housekeeper say 'Fit for the country, maybe, but...'

'What are you doing, Mrs Medlock?' she said, sitting up. 'Those are my gowns.'

'Yes, they are. And I have been given explicit instructions to go through these and decide what is appropriate for London and what is not. I assume you are aware of your imminent departure?'

'I won't be going anywhere, Medlock. So you might as well save yourself the trouble and put them back in the wardrobe.'

'I'm afraid it's not up to you.' the old housekeeper replied, with a steely expression, once again going to the wardrobe in what Mary knew was to take out even more gowns. 'I am under strict orders from your Uncle. He has given me the _joyous_', she said sarcastically 'task, of making sure your wardrobe is suitable for your new life. As I'm sure you're aware – you will be leaving Misselthwaite in less than a month, for London.'

'No one can make me go if I don't want to.' the young woman said, with resolute determination in her voice. Jumping out of bed, she said. 'Go through my wardrobe if you wish, but it will all be a waste of time.' Shrugging off her nightgown, she quickly grabbed a plain dress from her bed, and pulled it over her head with practised ease. Sitting down to slip her feet into her gardening boots, she was barely aware of the dark look the housekeeper gave her. _I am going to see Dickon,_ the girl thought, _and he will help me... he will help make everything better._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

_**An awkward encounter**_

Breathing crisp spring air into her lungs, the young woman made her way through the shaded walk, towards the Secret Garden.

She felt her heart pound furiously, as she thought of Mrs Medlock, the interfering old housekeeper, going through her gowns. _She just can't wait to_ _see the back of me_, the girl thought, feeling her ire rise once again at the image of the old women tossing aside her gardening clothes, as if they were nothing but rags.

Still, she did have a morning with Dickon to look forward to. And spring happened to be one of the busiest times in the garden.

_Perhaps the snowdrops will have finally begun to flower?_ she wondered.

The young man who had been in her thoughts, was busy in the garden when she arrived, and when he caught sight of her, he smiled broadly.

'I see tha' has finally managed to drag thyself out 'a bed!' he exclaimed, coming over to meet her. The young lad was wearing his usual attire – work pants and a loose shirt, which she noticed was coming untucked from his trousers. He was covered in smudges of dirt, and he wiped his brow absently as he strode over, leaving a streak of soil across his forehead. She smiled back at him. He looked fresh and earthy – like a child of the soil.

'Just because some of us don't get up _before_ the crack of dawn, does not mean that I'm lazy.' she insisted, giving way to his joking. Their interactions were generally light hearted, with the two of them taking pleasure in each other's company. Dickon laughed lightly, before giving her the run-down of the morning's events.

'Well, I was lookin' under th' tree', he said, pointing towards one of the Apple trees, 'an' I noticed th' crocuses are startin' to come up. So I've been doin' some weedin' t' make sure that they have enough room t' poke their heads up. Eh! twas hard work this mornin'.'

Mary listened to him chatter on, feeling the familiarity of his voice ease her feelings of frustration and nervous anticipation. She watched the young man as he spoke, noticing in particular the brilliance of his blue eyes, and how they sparkled. He met her gaze and she looked away quickly, suddenly embarrassed to have been caught staring.

'So I was sayin' tha' perhaps we have a bit t' do t'day, Miss Mary.' Dickon said. 'A good thing you're dressed for it.' he said, looking her over. She sensed the mire in his voice and looked down, taking in her rumpled appearance.

'Dickon! what a terrible thing to say to a lady!'

'Ah, but not a lady yet...' he trailed off, suddenly self-conscious. 'I mean... er...'

'That's alright.' she sighed 'You know Dickon, they all think they can send me away and make me into "_a lady_" but I don't think I want to be a lady. If being a lady means wearing fancy gowns and paying calls and never getting my hands dirty, than I don't want to be one! I would much prefer to stay as I am, with the garden, and you, and...'

She looked up and found his eyes.

'Not everyone wants ye to leave, Miss Mary', he said sadly. She found herself starting to tremble, and blinded to hold back tears. _I wish he wouldn't look at_ _me like that_, she thought. _It makes me feel worse than ever about leaving. _Without warning, a tear made it's way down her cheek, and she angrily wiped it away with her sleeve, feeling foolish, but unable to control the emotion that surged up inside her. She couldn't remember ever having cried in front of Dickon.

Dickon noticed her tears and immediately walked over and put his arm around her, drawing her close. She hesitated at first, and then leaned into him, feeling his firm body through his shirt. His touch was comforting, and she felt her heart slow as he whispered over and over again 'Hush lass, it will all work out. Hush now, Miss Mary.'

_How can I leave Dickon?_ she wondered, feeling an infinite sadness come over her. She saw herself, in years hence, bored and alone at countless dinner parties and other meaningless social gatherings. Swamped in lace, with her hands encased in gloves, with servants following her every order. Trapped like a bird in a cage with nowhere to go, no escape, no garden... and no Dickon. She cried in frustration and anger, but felt herself soothed somewhat by his gentle words and his arm around her shoulder.

In time her tears stopped, and she sniffed and wiped her eyes one final time, trying to regain her composure.

'Ah, I'm sorry Dickon', she said, her voice still trembling. 'I'm just so upset right now with everyone, and I feel so angry.'

He looked down on her then and smiled softly 'Although something tells me yer not angry at everyone', he said in a soft voice, and tightened his arm around her.

'No Dickon, of course not', she said sadly, then looked up at him 'You are my dearest friend, I hope you know that'. His gaze became serious, and he said to her in a voice barely above a whisper 'And you are mine, Miss Mary.'

_That was the first moment it happened_, she reflected later that night. _Something like magic passed between us both. The kind of magic that you feel when you are immersed in beauty – when you see life and all it's possibilities around you. _

She looked into his eyes and saw their deep infinity, a strange feeling passed over her, as she did so. She had never felt anything like it before, and it left her wishing that the moment would last forever. _If only I could remain with Dickon,_ _with his arm around me_, thought the young woman. It was an odd feeling, but a lovely one. She felt something else, too. An urgency, a feeling of wanting to move closer, of wanting to... Suddenly overwhelmed, she moved away, and stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do. She reached up, feeling a blush overcoming her cheeks.

Mary was not the only one who had felt the moment which passed between them. Dickon had felt it too, and the young man drew away and began gathering up his gardening tools. She looked at him in confusion, noticing the lack of eye contact.

'Ah... excuse me, Miss Mary, but I have to...'

'Oh, don't worry, Dickon', She broke in, her voice unnaturally high. 'You have to report for duty, and everything. Er... I have to go too,' she smiled, but it felt false 'I think Mrs Medlock wants to take me into the village to... to find some new gowns.'

_Yes, that will do as an explanation,_ she thought, feeling the need to suddenly run and hide from the awkwardness that surrounded them.

At that, she got up and turned away, heading towards the door of the garden, and feeling horribly confused. When she reached the door, she turned around to look back, and saw him looking towards her with a searching expression on his face. Not knowing what else to do, feeling her heart racing and emotions in turmoil, she pulled the door open, slipped through the ivy covered walls, and was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

_**Resolutions**_

The weeks flew by for Mary Lennox, in a series of dress fittings, outings to the village, and general preparations for her immenant departure. The end of March was fast approaching, and with it, Mary thought, the end of her days of freedom in the garden.

The young woman felt confused whenever she turned her thoughts towards the garden, as they inevitably drew towards Dickon. The two of them hadn't really spoken since that awkward moment they had shared. Their conversation mainly consisted of greetings, and a few spoken sentences. Dickon had kept his distance, and Mary hers – yet she couldn't help feeling confused over what had happened between them.

_The way I feel about Dickon has changed_, she realised one morning, soon after it had happened. She recalled how he had looked in the garden that day. His clothes rumpled, his forehead smudged with dirt. She recalled one of her first impressions of him, and smiled. _'Like an angel'_, she had thought back then. _He_ _is still like an angel,_ she pondered, _or perhaps it is just that he is so free and happy? There was just something so appealing about his smile._ 'Oh!' she cried, banging her fist on her pillow in frustration. 'I don't understand how I feel about him!'

Whenever Mary was alone, she would replay that moment over and over in her mind, savouring it like a guilty pleasure. She would recall how his arm had felt around her shoulders, the nearness of him, the warmth of his body... and the look in his eyes. More than anything, she remembered those eyes, and the feeling of magic that had passed through her when he had leant his face closer to hers. Almost as if ... he had wanted to kiss me, she thought, then quickly tried to push the idea from her mind. Of course, it was the thought that she always came back to, again and again as she lay alone in her bed at night. In her imaginings, she thought of him not pulling away, but instead leaning closer towards her, flushing at the unexpected feelings this caused within her body.

As the weeks passed, she began to experience an intense longing to see him. Just to be able to watch him. The awkward silences were too much to bear. She wanted to see Dickon, but didn't want to deal with the awkwardness it entailed. The young woman knew that something had happened on that day in the garden, but she didn't understand what, or how she could bring things back to the way they had been before. More than that – she didn't know if she wanted to. Things were changing between her and Dickon, and it left her feeling both scared and excited.

She found herself using an excuse possible to sneak out of the house and watch him work. She would watch as he chatted amicably to Ben Weatherstaff, noting the tilt of his cap upon his head and the casual and relaxed way he laughed as he leant on his spade. She would watch him as he went about his duties in the garden, smiling inwardly as she listened to him sing to himself when he thought no one was watching. She longed to speak to him, but didn't know where to begin and worried about how he felt. Did he feel embarrassed over what had happened? Was he too busy to talk to her? she wasn't sure. So she continued to watch Dickon from the shadows, unsure of how to proceed.

When she wasn't watching Dickon, she was engaged in more mundane duties within the house. Mrs Medlock had taken it upon herself to instruct the young lady how to 'behave like a lady' in all respects. Almost overnight, the young woman found her freedom curtailed and her days filled with endless monologues and instruction on the 'proper' way to do things. Mary wondered if her head would burst open in frustration, after the amount of times she had been told 'Ladies do not run through corridors', or 'Ladies do not grip a teacup as though it were an ale mug!' She longed to escape to the solitude that the garden provided, but was afraid to do so, for fear of meeting Dickon there alone.

_Worse than the criticism_, the young woman thought, _is having to be laced_ _into a corset each day and feel as though your breath is cut off. _

Mrs Medlock had jumped at the opportunity to 'finally' attire her young charge in correct clothing. The result was lengthened skirts and tight-lacing, and Mary also discovered that her gardening boots were not considered 'lady-like' either.

'Mrs Medlock! my scalp aches. Why do I have to wear my hair in this manner?' she complained one morning.

'I had no choice but to pin it back severely, child. Especially after you took it upon yourself to untie your hair yesterday. These pins,' she said, inserting another into the hair of the wincing girl, 'will ensure that it stays tidy.'

'And I can barely breathe in a corset.'

'Tight lacing, my girl, is something all women must endure.' was the housekeepers sardonic reply.

She looked miserably at herself in the mirror on her dresser, watching the entourage behind her as her hair was 'fixed' for the day. Mrs Medlock was busy giving orders to Sarah, her personal maid, and the young servant looked scared out of her wits. Sarah Clare, had taken Martha's place when Martha had left to be married.

_I would rather be a servant than a lady,_ she thought with sadness. _I feel like a caged bird. _

'Time to stand up, my dear.' The housekeeper said briskly.

She watched as Sarah fetched the corset and held her breath in frustration. She dreaded the daily tight lacing.

She groaned as she felt the bones of the corset tighten around her tender flesh. _Really, it was just like being caged in,_ she thought. Mrs Medlock always jerked the strings so hard, almost as though she enjoyed it.

After the corset came the new gown – a day gown of plain blue cotton. She had been fitted at the local dressmakers in the village, and a whole new wardrobe had been ordered for London. Girls in London, she had been told, had many gowns. She felt silly in her new clothes, and not at all comfortable, and wondered bitterly if Dickon would even recognise her when she next saw him in the garden. The exact fitting of the gown meant that it was impossible for her to loosen the corset she wore underneath. She felt her ire rising at the thought of another long and boring day spent in pain and discomfort.

She looked wistfully out the window at the new day that was dawning. The sky was impossibly light, and she could see swallows swooping on the breeze, almost as though they were dancing on the wind. A pang of sadness swept through her, as she remembered that she was going to be leaving the beauty of the moors behind. _'I wonder if this is how Colin felt when he was kept inside_ _all those years?'_ the young woman thought. _'Did he ever spend his days by his window – as I am doing now, wishing that he could be outside dancing through the heather like the birds of the moor?'_

Mrs Medlock and Sarah had departed the room, leaving Mary alone with her thoughts. _'To think that in two weeks time I shall be in London. How horrid!' _she shuddered and walked over to her wardrobe.

Carefully, the young woman took out her old gardening boots, which she had pushed to the back of the wardrobe, away from the disapproving eyes of Mrs Medlock. _They shan't stop me this time_, she thought. _I must find Dickon and make things right between us._


	5. Chapter 5

Apologies for the length of time between posts - I have had barely any time to write recently - not even a re-write as this is!

Thank you for all the comments and reviews. It means more than I can say.

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**Chapter 5:**

**When the rain comes...**

Mary Lennox walked quickly towards the garden, a slight frown marring her smooth forehead.

She had decided to make things right between her and Dickon, but where should she begin? she frowned as she walked down the steps that led to the entrance of the mansion. They had barely spoken since that afternoon in the garden, and she had no idea whether she would be able to catch Dickon by himself. These days, the young lad was working under the watchful eye of Ben Weatherstaff and the other gardeners.

_Somehow, I will make him come to me, s_he resolved.

As she walked, she did not notice the storm clouds that were gathering overhead. She had other things on her mind.

* * *

She swung the door of the secret garden open, and was greeted by an abundance of fresh, new growth. How long it is since I have been in here! she gasped, as she marveled at the beauty that nature had provided. Almost overnight, some of the empress of India lilies and croucoses had flowered, and a multitude of snowdrops provided a carpet of green flecked with white. She breathed deeply, standing and absorbing the serenity.

_If only Dickon were here! I wonder, could the magic bring Dickon to the garden?_

Feeling a little childish, and glad that no one was there to watch her, she moved to the middle of the garden, and spread her arms skyward. Tilting her head back, she exclaimed 'Magic, Magic! come and help!'

_Perhaps it would work better if I thought of Dickon as I said the words?_

She thought of all the times she had spent with Dickon in the garden. Of the conversations they had had. Of summer days spent both working, then resting – content to be in each other's company. She recalled his dazzling smile and bright blue eyes, and then the way they made her feel inside.

_I must see him today. I must!_

Lifting her arms high above her head, she spoke again.

'Magic, magic! come and help! bring Dickon to me!'

'If tha' wanted t' see me, tha' only needed t' have asked.'

She spun around, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment, and saw Dickon standing a few metres away, amusement on his features.

'You're here!' she spluttered. 'But -'

'Aye. I'm here. As tha' asked.' he paused, a sly grin beginning to form. 'After all, how could I resist the summonin' o' magic?' he paused, to look at her, and then continued. 'Especially when tha' spell is cast by one sa' beautiful.'

She frowned, and then looked down, realising that she was wearing a new gown that Dickon had not seen her in before. I must look like quite the lady, she realised.

'Well, now that you're here, perhaps you could help me with the weeding.' she said, at a loss of what to say, and desperate to move on from the embarrassment of the previous moment. Without meeting his gaze, she cast her hands across the garden. 'As you can see, it has been seriously neglected.'

Dickon chuckled. 'Tha' canna use magic t' make it tidy?'

She glowered at him, desperate to move past her embarrassment. He nodded and smiled 'verra well then. I can spare a wee bit o' time.'

He began to set up his gardening tools, and she moved away until she was standing a few metres behind him. Her cheeks still burned red, but relief quelled her raging heart. The awkwardness of the past couple of weeks seemed to have disappeared. It was just like old times. Although, she thought inwardly, my feelings have changed since then.

She found she could barely take her eyes off the young man who so carefully tended the garden. She watched as he rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing strong forearms. She admired the breadth of his shoulders and wished to run her fingers along the muscle to see what he felt like. She was unsure of what she wanted, she only knew that being around him was both torturous and lovely, all at the same time.

They weeded in silence for around half an hour, and then Dickon stood up and stretched.

'I have t' be goin' back.' he said. 'But I have somethin' t' show thee.'

She stood up to meet the young lad who was standing beside her, and felt her heartbeat begin to race. _There is magic here, right now. I can feel it. _

Her heart seemed to catch in her throat as he reached his hand towards her.

'Come.'

She took his hand, and once again felt the magic pass through her. His hand felt strong and warm, and together they walked across to where Dickon had been gardening.

'Look, Miss Mary. Th' first rose o' spring.'

She beheld it, and gasped. 'Oh Dickon! it's beautiful.' She bent her head down to smell it, and the scent mingled appropriately with the smell of spring – fresh and lovely – hinting of warm days and nights which would soon arrive. She looked up, and caught Dickon smiling fondly at her. She barely noticed the sudden drop in air temperature, or the first drops of rain that fell upon her face.

'Well,' Dickon chuckled, as he wiped his brow. 'Spring is verra unpredictable!'

What began as a few drops soon increased to a steady downpour. Dickon took Mary's hand and the two young people took off across the lawn, towards the shelter of the trees. 'Quick, Dickon!' gasped Mary, and the two of them ran hand in hand towards the shelter of the large oak tree in the corner of the garden, laughing as they went.

It was dark under the tree, but the large branches provided shelter from the elements. Thunder clapped overhead and Mary busied herself in wiping the drops of water from her forehead.

'Do I look as wet as I feel?' she asked, grinning broadly.

'Aye! tha' is fair soaked t' th' skin!' the young man replied, flicking wet hair back from his face. His eyes were shining brightly as he spoke, and Mary herself felt refreshed, energised somehow. She shrugged in humourous acceptance.

'Oh well. Mrs Medock is bound to have my head now!'

'Here, let me help.' Dickon offered, reaching his hand up to her face to wipe away the raindrops that lingered there. She smiled, enjoying his touch, and his closeness, watching his brow frown in consternation. Absently, he removed a starch handkerchief from his pocket, and used it to wipe her cheek.

'I hope that isn't a used handkerchief, Dickon.' She reprimanded crossly, barely noticing that her voice was shaking.

'O course not.' Dickon grinned, and continued to wipe the water from her brow. His touch felt soft and gentle.

'There. I think tha's got it.'

Without knowing how, or why, she found herself reaching up to brush a strand of wet hair away from his forehead.

'You are barely in better shape, Dickon Sowerby.' she said with a trembling voice, as his eyes met hers. She traced a fingertip down the edge of his face, along his jaw – watching the subtle astonishment that graced the young man's face. His cheeks were covered in raindrops, and the water from his hair was forming little rivulets. She brushed one of these away absently, and drew in her breath sharply at the tingling she felt run through her fingers. His gaze was deep and permeating, and there was something else, something that made her want to drink in those eyes of his, and tear her gaze away – all at the same time. Instead, she remained where she was. Both unmoving, uncertain of what to do next – both having come to a crossroads where they had to make a move – one way or the other.

The moment seemed to stand still just then, _as though just for a moment it_ _could last forever_, she later thought to herself. Something was building between herself and Dickon, she could feel it. And, she thought, she felt powerless to stop it.

The moment stretched out before them, then Dickon leaned his face down towards hers.

Of course, he had kissed her on the cheek many times before, and at first Mary thought that this was what he intended to do now. But instead of his lips brushing against her cheek they flitted gently across her mouth. She gasped in surprise, unable to move at the feelings that coursed through her body.

He pulled his face away, then looked towards her with a mixture of longing and confusion.

Mary felt herself move towards him, and, barely believing what she was doing, reached up and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

He returned her kiss, and she felt his arms encircle her waist. She had never kissed anyone before, and she could barely believe the sensations she was feeling. Dickon's mouth felt warm on hers, and he was still caressing her cheek with his hand, softly and smoothly. All she knew was that she never wanted him to stop.


	6. Chapter 6

**I have just gone back over this chapter and edited parts of it, because it was a very very rough draft, previously! as always, please let me know your thoughts. Your reviews mean so much to me and encourage me to keep writing (and are the only reward I get for this labor of love!) thanks guys! xx  
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**A/N: 'Let us dance' is written from Dickon's perspective, as it's about time he got a chapter to himself! I do love Dickon, although I seem to enjoy putting him through torturous situations! This chapter introduces some supporting characters, who will each have their part to play as the story progresses... Sarah Clare, Mary's maid, Susie Birdwood - who is another maid at Misselthwaite, and who I'm sorry to say is going to try to cause some trouble for Dickon in future chapters, and Robert Niven - Sarah's cousin and another possible troublemaker. Poor Dickon is going to have his fair share of trouble before this story is finished, and he and Mary will be put through some very testing times in their relationship. **

**Of course, living in a manor house, people will talk and gossip... and lets just say Mary and Dickon's growing relationship has not gone unnoticed...  
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* * *

**Chapter 6:**

**Let us dance**

I

Reflections

Most of the time, Dickon Sowerby preferred solitude. It was only when he was by himself that he felt most at peace with the world. He had spent his childhood roaming the moors, befriending animals along the way, and those who knew him had commented more than once how he resembled more a wild creature than a boy

However, now, at the age of nineteen, Dickon Sowerby was no longer a child. He knew that there were certain responsibilities and obligations to fulfill in life. He was under-gardener to Ben Weatherstaff, and had a family to support. Although, he no longer had the freedom that youth provided, he still tried to get away whenever he could, and the most recent chain of events had been a deciding factor in him seeking solitude to mull over his thoughts.

It was early morning, and Dickon was taking the time to watch the sun rise over the moor. It was the time of day he loved the most, and about the only time – save bedtime – when he had a chance to be completely alone. He had risen early and gone to one of his favorite spots – high on a nearby hill where the valley stretched down below him. Laying back in the heather, he stared up at the changing sky, watching the birds swoop and dance.

Dickon's thoughts turned almost immediately to Miss Mary Lennox, and what had happened the previous afternoon in the garden. It was true, over the past few years his feelings towards Mary had changed from a friendly affection into something more. He was barely able to control how he felt about her. He couldn't help it that whenever she came near everything else in the world seemed to disappear - ceased to matter. He only knew that he wanted to be with her, and that his heart ached when they were apart. And then there was yesterday to consider. In all his wild imaginings, he had never remotely entertained the possibility that she could feel the same way about him.

He cast his mind back, and relived the moment they had shared under the trees, as they sheltered from the pouring rain. Her pale skin, her lips moist, her eyes searching. He had wiped the raindrops from her face, and had seen the questioning look in her eyes. She had been scared, uncertain. He had wanted to comfort her.

I kissed her, he thought in wonder, replaying the scene over in his mind. He had wiped the rain from her face, saw how her lips quivered in the cold, and then had simply reached down and kissed her. He hadn't been able to help himself. He had kissed her, and then she had kissed him back with such intensity it had taken his breath away. And it had been wonderful. He hadn't known it was possible to feel that good inside. He sat up, twisting a blade of grass in his hands as he thought. He had felt ... complete.

The sky was continuing to change, and Dickon watched the colour that began spilling over the edge of the horizon, signaling the beginning of a new day. He wanted only to see Mary again, yet he didn't know when that would be.

Every instinct in his body was telling him that what he had done was wrong. He was but a mere moor boy - she, the niece of Lord Craven. Their worlds were so different. Dickon knew, with a sinking feeling in his heart, that his feelings towards Mary would never be able to come to anything. He was only nineteen years old, but he was not naive enough to believe it possible for two people so different as the two of them to marry. Besides, Mary would be leaving in less than two weeks for London. At this thought, his heart became heavy. Dickon sighed, he knew that by right he had to keep his distance from the young woman, but he was so drawn to her. He knew he was out of his depth, but he simply could not turn his back on her.

II

'There is work to be done.'

Dickon stood outside the small brick cottage, rubbing his hands together, trying to remove the chill from them. He looked over to his friend and fellow workmate, John Hawkings, who was trying to do the same. Next to John stood Robert Niven, looking as though he would rather be anywhere but listening to the old man speak. Dickon grinned, and turned to face his overseer.

'Right lads, time t' pay attention.' Ben Weatherstaff was saying. Dickon subtly nudged Robert, who gave a start and turned to face the old man. He heard John stifled a laugh.

'I'll have none o' that my boy.' Ben said gruffly, staring at John in the eye with a stern look, before getting to the heart of things. The boys listened as Ben gave them the days itinerary, before telling them to 'stop standing there and get to it.' As they moved off, Robert sidled up to Dickon, and looking to see they were out of earshot from the old man, spoke.

'I see thee is spendin' a bit o' time with Mistress Mary, Dickon.' He said suggestively.

'No more than usual.' The lad replied, trying to keep his voice casual.

'I hear she is t' be goin' t' London?' Robert inquired. 'Tha' will miss her, for sure?'

Dickon shrugged, trying to appear neutral about the subject. Robert leaned in closer, and whispered:

'Our Susie tells me Mistress Mary cries herself to sleep every night.'

Robert wandered off, towards the tool shed, leaving Dickon to ponder this recent news. She cried herself to sleep? Could she possibly be……..? No, the lad thought, shaking his head. It was impossible.

III

A glimpse of Miss Mary

The morning wore on, as usual. Around mid-morning, the four men stopped for a brief morning tea. They ate in front of the cottage – a fine feast of hot tea and warm bread with butter that the kitchen staff had prepared.

Dickon watched in amusement as Robert chatted amicably to Susie Birdwood, the young red haired maid that brought them their victuals. The youngest of the gardening staff, and the most out-going, Robert was never shy on conversation. The young lad was discussing a dance that they had all been invited to attend that night. Susie was his first cousin, and it was common knowledge that the two of them were very close.

Dickon watched a carriage pull up to the house, and from where he was sitting, saw Mary Lennox and Mrs Medlock emerge from the house, accompanied by Mary's maid, Sarah Clare. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he watched her walk across the steps and down to the carriage. How he longed to run up and speak to her! He barely noticed his cup of tea growing cold in his hands, or that he was under the watchful gaze of Ben Weatherstaff

'Thy tea will get cold, Boy.' The old man said gruffly, interrupting his thoughts.

He turned to see the old man watching him with a look of suspicion. He realised that he had been staring, and turned about guiltily.

'Aye.' He said, sipping his forgotten tea.

'So Dickon,' said Susie, coming up to speak with him. She brushed back a lock of red hair before taking a seat next to him. 'I take it tha' will be attending the dance tonight?'

'I haven't decided.' He said absently, gazing once more at the carriage.

'Everyone will be going. It would be a shame for thee to miss out. Besides, I would very much like it if tha' came.' She said with a flirtatious smile. 'Tha' won't be lackin' in dancing partners, Dickon.'

Dickon felt his stomach sink. Going to a dance was the last thing he wanted to do. He had hoped to spend the evening in the vicinity of the garden, for a chance to see Mary.

'I don't know, Susie. I'll have t' think about it.'

'The boy will come.' Ben interrupted. 'It's about time he met some young ladies his own age.'

'Would be a shame if tha' were t' end up an old Bachaelor like Ben!' Robert added. 'Lots of lovely young ladies, Dickon. Think about it. Why, Susie here would love t' give thee a dance or two.' He said, putting his arm around his cousin, Susie, who giggled in a way that left Dickon in no doubt that she was enjoying the attention tremendously.

'Oh yes, Dickon. I would love t' give thee a dance.'

Dickon sighed. He could think of no acceptable reason not to attend. He glanced forlornly at John Niven, his older workmate, wishing he too had a wife and a family to go home to and not have to be subjected to such social torture. 'Verra well then. I will come.'

'Oh Dickon!' I am so pleased!' Susie squealed in excitement, her green eyes shining. 'And do say you'll dance with me?'

He tried to smile. 'Aye.'

She rewarded his answer with a beaming smile, then departed - although not before informing them she would see them later that afternoon

'And I can tell thee for a fact,' Robert whispered, indicating towards the young woman, 'she hasn't half taken a fancy to thee Dickon.'

IV

The village dance

Although Dickon spent the rest of the day keeping a watchful glance for the carriage, it did not return unitl later that afternoon. He kept hoping that Mary would be able to come down to the garden to speak with him, but she never came, and he could only assume that she was being kept busy in the manor. He waited for as long as he dared before dull acceptance crept in, and he made his way back to his lodgings.

Later that evening, after they had eaten, Dickon made his way with the others to the village dance. The crowd consisted of most of the young servants from Misselthwaite, including Robert, Susie, and Mary's personal maid, Sarah Clare. Most of the party were very merry, talking and laughing as they walked, and passing flasks of alcohol between them. Dickon trailed on the edge of the crowd, wishing that he could have had a chance to speak to Mary. He just simply couldn't keep her from his mind, and more than anything would have liked to be at home, in the cottage, where he could have perhaps caught a glimpse of her.

As their procession had left Misselthwaite, Susie Birdwood had approached Dickon, and made it perfectly clear that she was very pleased he would be accompanying them.

'And don't forget, tha' did promise me a dance, Dickon.' she stated boldly.

'O' course.' He replied, giving into courteously, but sighing inwardly.

The dance was held in one of the neighboring barns. By the time the servants from Misselthwaite arrived, the night was in full swing. Torches were lit, casting a soft glow under the night sky, and Dickon could hear fiddlers playing within. Outside, Men were swigging beer from bottles and laughing. Most of the servants considered occasions such as these the only time they could relax and unwind, away from the ever watchful glances of their masters and mistresses.

'Ah, I do love a good dance, Dickon. Lots of pretty young women.' Robert said, as they entered the Barn. 'Makes this tedious job a little more bearable, eh mate?'

'I think I'll have a drink.' Dickon muttered, leaving Robert and the others. He made his way over the makeshift bar, wondering how long he would have to stay before he could sidle out and make his way back to Misselthwaite.

While the others busied themselves in dancing, Dickon found a quiet corner in which to enjoy a drink. He found himself observing the others, wishing he could find the same enjoyment in the music and dancing, but images of Mary were plaguing his mind. The only thing he wanted to do was to speak to her, to be with her. Yet, he had no idea when that would be. The thought was tormenting him.

'May I have a dance then, Dickon?' a bright voice said. He turned around to see Susie Birdwood, standing next to him.

'I … uh, well, I was just finishin' my drink.' He said lamely, wishing he could think of a better excuse.

'Surely it can wait?' she said impatiently. 'Dickon…. You did promise me.'

She stood before him clad in a green dress, contrasting sharply with her red hair. Dickon knew for a fact that Sarah Birdwood was considered by many to be one of the most attractive maids at Misselthwaite manor, yet he had no interest in her beyond friendship and even then found her to be overbearing. Secretly, Dickon had often wondered if she took an interest in anything or anyone besides herself. Still, he did have his obligations. He knew he had to at least be courteous to her or he'd never hear the end of it from his workmates – Robert in particular. And then there was Ben. Ben, who had given him that look when he had seen Dickon staring at Mary earlier in the day. Dickon knew that to refuse a dance, would be to arouse suspicion.

'Aye, I did.' He said, forcing himself to smile, standing up and offering her his arm. 'Well then, would tha' like a dance, Susie?'

'Very much, Dickon.' She responded, flashing him a brilliant smile, and together they made their way to the dance floor. She swayed uncertainly as she walked, and Dickon realized that she had probably been drinking. She giggled as she walked, clutching tightly to his arm, pulling him closer to her than he felt comfortable.

'Hey, Dickon!' Robert called out, once they reached the group of dancers. 'She finally managed to drag thee out of th' corner, eh?!'

'I'm afraid I'm not a verra good dancer, Susie.' Dickon said, looking around uncertainly.

'Oh nonsense, Dickon Sowerby!' she laughed. 'I don't believe that for a second. Just follow me. Here.' She pulled him close to her, placing his hand around her waist then began guiding him through the dance steps. Dickon shivered uncomfortably, trying to keep his touch on her waist as light as possible. Susie must have noticed, as she said 'You have to hold on to me tightly, Dickon. Like this.' She placed her hand on top of his, holding it in place, while moving closer to him.

'I've finally got thee to myself.' She said, pulling him close to her. 'Away from those men, and of course, away from Miss Mary Lennox.' She giggled and felt her arm around his back. 'Goodness, Dickon. I never realised how strong you really are.'

'All tha' hard work, I expect.' He said, not feeling entirely comfortable, and desperately searching his mind for an excuse to leave the dance.

'What exactly do the two of you do in that Garden, day after day, Dickon?'

'Just gardenin' he replied. 'Nothin' more.'

'I wasn't talking about th' work in th' Kitchen gardens. I want to know what it is you do in the Secret Garden. With Miss Mary.'

He felt himself stiffen at the mention of her name. He tried to keep his voice casual.

'Just help her where I can. Wi' the weedin' and prunin'. Tha's all.'

'I find that hard to believe.' She whispered, catching his eye.

More then ever, he found himself wishing that he could be anywhere but at the dance. They danced on, until the music finished, then Dickon pulled away.

'It was a pleasure dancin' wi' thee Susie. Please excuse me.'

He left her standing in the middle of the dance floor, and did not stay long enough to see the frown that quickly spread across her face. Confused, and with his mind in turmoil he made his way towards the door of the barn, pushing past people as he went, wanting only the quiet and solitude that the night provided.

'I'll see thee back at the house.' He said to Robert, on his way out. 'I have t' go.'

Walking back down the deserted road, with only the light of the moon to guide him, Dickon thought of many things, His thoughts turning naturally to the one young woman he could not get out of his mind – Mary Lennox.


	7. Chapter 7

**I love being on holiday - it gives me time to write, and I do love writing. It's nice to be able to get these chapters up quickly, as opposed to having to update once every couple of weeks. **

**Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought! your comments are always appreciated.  
**

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**Beyond the Secret Garden:**

**Chapter 7**

The carriage had been called and Mary Lennox sighed inwardly as she watched it pull up to the front of the house. It was time for another trip to the village – this time, to be fitted for new shoes. She followed Mrs Medlock down the marble steps that lead to the drive, casting her eyes across the grounds of the manor.

It did not take long for her to locate Dickon, who was sitting with some of his workmates, outside the small brick cottage he shared with them. Mrs Medlock saw her staring, and frowned.

'Come now, my girl. We do not have all day to stand around dilly dallying.'

They took their places in the carriage, and Mary once again turned her attention to the group that assembled outside the cottage. A petite, red haired girl was with them, laughing and jostling the men. She was sure she had seen the girl somewhere before, and before she knew what she was doing she was turning to Mrs Medlock, who was seated opposite her.

'Who is that girl, Mrs Medlock? I cannot recall seeing her before.'

'She is one of the new maids,' came the housekeepers prim reply. 'I believe she started working two weeks ago. Her name is Miss Susie Birdwood, if my memory serves me correctly.' She gestured towards the group that were sitting outside the cottage. 'She is first cousin to Robert, who works with Ben Weatherstaff.'

Mary was reminded once again of how the old woman knew every coming and going that involved the staff at Misselthwaite. A pang of longing went through her as she watched the group, jovially chatting. What she wouldn't give to be at Dickon's side, instead of stuck in the stuffy carriage with Mrs Medlock! She watched the young woman, envying her freedom. _One day, Dickon_, she thought, _one day I too will be free._

* * *

Mary Lennox sat stiffly in the carriage, as it jostled and bumped down the gravel road. She turned her attention from the old housekeeper who was sitting opposite her, to the view outside the carriage window. She watched the scenery as it flew past. It was one of those beautiful and calm spring mornings. Birds were taking wing in the sky, the heather was beginning to bloom, and Mary had no doubt that a warm breeze was now gently whispering over the moor, carrying with it the promise of a long, hot summer. She squirmed in her seat, feeling restless, longing to be outside, and she found herself thinking of Dickon. More than anything she wanted to be with him, enjoying the beauty of the day in his company.

As she stared out of the window, Mary breathed in deeply, holding the image of Dickon in her mind. She found herself slipping into the luxury of replaying the scene that had unfolded yesterday in the garden. In her minds eye she could hear the rain falling around them, she could see the earnest look on Dickon's face, she could feel his hand gently wiping away the raindrops from her forehead, and then she could taste him - all wild heather and honey – as he reached down to kiss her.

She had wanted that kiss to last forever, that feeling of being so close to Dickon that they were almost one person. She allowed herself now, to dwell upon that moment, and it wasn't long before the now familiar heat began to rise up inside her.

'My dear!' Mrs Medlock looked up from the book she was reading, her face set in a prim line. 'Is something the matter? Your cheeks have gone rather red.'

Mary was at once jolted back to reality, all thoughts of Dickon gone. Her hands flew up to her cheeks.

'It must be the heat, Mrs Medlock. It is a warm day.'

The housekeeper nodded. 'And yet you have worn such an inappropriate gown for the weather. Will you never learn, child?'

With a scowl on her face, Mary went back to looking out the window.

'I think you should know, your Uncle expects you for dinner tonight. '

The housekeeper passed on the information in her usual dry tone, not waiting for an answer.

'He does?' she girl replied, feeling her heart sink. She had hoped to have the evening free, in order to see Dickon once again. She wasn't sure how much longer she could go without seeing him. What was wrong with her? She wondered. Why was she feeling this way. All these feelings were so unexpected, frightening, and wonderful. She wished she had someone she could talk to about it. Was it normal to be feeling this way?

* * *

If Friday was a long day, then Saturday was even longer and it seemed to stretch on forever.

Mary paced back and forth, around her room, casting her eyes up to the old grandfather clock every few minutes, listening to her boot heels click on the wooden floor.

_If I pace long enough, perhaps time will go faster, and I will be able to see Dickon sooner?_

She knew that Dickon finished work at around four o'clock, so she figured that if she was to walk past the kitchen gardens just before the clock struck the hour, she would have a good chance of catching him.

_I need to see him, I must see him!_ She thought.

She paced over to her dressing table, and caught her reflection in the mirror.

Ugh, she thought, looking at her appearance as though for the first time.

Pale skin, freckles, eyes with dark circles under them from lack of sleep…. And to make things even worse, her hair was pulled back into a severe bun at the back of her head – all Mrs Medlock's orders, of course. She grimaced and began removing the pins that held her hair in place. She knew that Dickon preferred her hair loose. Her hair spilt in ringlets down her back, the colour of ripe hay. She sighed in relief, feeling the tension in her forehead begin to dissipate. There, that was better.

* * *

Susie Birdwood was completing her duties for the day, when she heard the sound of boot heels clicking down the corridor. The young maid stopped dusting, and listened. Quietly, she got up, and poked her head through the door, watching the disappearing form of the young Miss Mary Lennox. Susie frowned. Mistress Mary had let her hair down, and Susie guessed that the young woman was not about to go to visit her Uncle, or Mrs Medlock. There was only one place she could be going. Silently, Susie crept through the door, and began to follow her.

* * *

Hiding around the corner of the hedge, Mary watched Dickon as he finished his duties for the day. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he stopped briefly, as one of his fellow workers approached.

'Hey! Dickon!'

Mary saw a young lad, with light hair approach Dickon. She could only assume this was Robert, she was certain Dickon had mentioned him a few times.

'Nearly finished then, eh Rob?' she heard him say.

'Aye. Thank goodness. T'was hard workin' today, after tha' dance last night.'

She saw Dickon smile. 'Well, tha' did stay a little late.'

The young man wiped his brow, before continuing. 'Tis a shame tha' left s' early, Dickon. Our Susie was verra disappointed.'

Susie? Thought Mary. He must be referring to Susie Birdwood from Misselthwaite. She frowned, moving in closer.

She saw Dickon shift uncomfortably.

'Well, I was tired an' I ….'

Robert looked at him strangely. 'Tha' should know, Dickon, most men around here would give their eye teeth t' be asked t' dance with Susie Birdwood.' He smiled 'O' course, as she is family, I am a wee bit biased.'

'Hows it goin' wi' thee, boys?' Ben Weatherstaff's voice could be heard, stopping their conversation.

'We'd betta finish up here before Ben comes along.' Dickon said quietly, glancing over his shoulder at the old man. 'Shall I see thee back at th' house then?'

'Aye. Speak t' tha' later, Dickon.' Said Robert, before moving off.

Mary waited until Robert was sufficient distance away before whispering loudly ' Psst! Dickon!'

The lad turned around, startled, and cautiously made his way over to where she was standing.

The lad glanced back over his shoulder before he spoke. 'Miss Mary! Wha' is tha doing?'

'I came to see you of course, silly.' She said, feeling her heart pounding. Dickon was standing before her, clad in his work clothes, with dirt streaked across his forehead, yet he had never looked so beautiful. 'I want to see you. Alone.' She could barely believe her boldness, and she saw Dickon's face flush. He moved closer to her.

'Aye.' He said, taking her hands in his. 'I want t' see thee also. Not here though. Meet me in th' gardens in say…. Half an hour. I should be done by then.'

He bent down to quickly kiss her, and she felt a thrill rush through her. She took his head in her hands, pulling him down closer to her and felt Dickon respond willingly as he pulled her towards him. They had not been kissing for more than a few seconds, when they heard a muffled noise coming from further down the path. They quickly pulled apart, and Dickon smoothed his hair.

'Wha' was that noise?' Dickon asked.

'I don't know… it must have been some kind of animal…' Mary said, frowning.

They were both too late to notice the disappearing form of Susie Birdwood, as she fled around the corner of the walk, her eyes wide in amazement at what she had just witnessed.

* * *

'Dickon, I have gone over and over things in my mind. I don't think what we did was wrong.'

They were sitting together on the large swing seat, just as they had done when they were children, almost six years ago. How things have changed since then, thought Mary ironically, breathing deeply in satisfaction at the feel of Dickon's warm body next to hers. And would he….? Yes he did, he put an arm around her shoulders pulling her close to him, and she leant into his chest – wondering if it were possible to die of happiness.

'Aye. I've bin' thinkin' about it too.' The lad whispered into her hair. 'I've cared about thee for a verra long time, Miss Mary.'

Wordlessly, she tilted her head up and kissed him once again, amazed at the feeling that surged through her. They broke apart and she spoke, in little more than a whisper.

'I care about you too, Dickon. An awful lot.'

She saw him smile, and found herself unable to contain her own grin of pleasure. He looks so lovely when he smiles, she thought. The way his eyes lit up and the small lines that crinkled in their corners. He really did have the loveliest smile of anyone she knew.

'I do think you must know me better than anyone.'

He responded by pulling her closer. Her head was resting on his chest and she could feel his heart beating. She closed her eyes in contentment, savouring the warmth and nearness of him, inhaling his clean scent.

'I have somethin' t' ask thee.' Dickon said, and she suddenly felt his body stiffen in tension.

'What is it?' she asked, idly stroking his chest with her bare hand.

His next words sent a thrill through her body.

'Will tha' come an' meet me t'night?' he asked hurriedly. 'That is, if tha' wants to, o' course.' As if trying to explain himself, he continued. 'I would like t' see thee without bein' interrupted. Can tha' get out o' th' house?'

'You want me to sneak out of the house at night, when everyone is in bed? Defy the wishes of my Uncle and Mrs Medlock?'

The lad was taken aback. 'I … well, only if tha' wants to….. I'm sorry. It was probably a bad idea.'

'I would love to, Dickon.' She grinned looking up at him. She stifled a laugh at his shocked expression. _Poor lad, he really does wear his heart on his sleeve!_

It was as if Dickon had been able to read her thoughts. There was nothing she wanted more than to be with him, alone, away from the prying and suspicious glances of everyone around them. And the thought of sneaking out of the house to do so was proving to be only too exciting.

'Tha will?' he asked, still unbelieving.

'Yes!' she laughed. 'Oh Dickon, there is nothing I would rather do. Although,' she said in mock seriousness, 'I will have to check my social schedule to make sure I'm available.'

They laughed, and he hugged her tightly to his chest, enclosing his arms around her. She could not remember when she had felt more safe…. More loved…. And for that matter, more happy.

* * *

**A/N - Our little Susie is going to bring some trouble to Mary and Dickon, so stay tuned!**

**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, xx Elyzia**


	8. Chapter 8

**This must be some kind of record for me! I can't remember a time when I've posted so many chapters in one week! make the most of it while you can! so anyway, this chapter will show how Susie is beginning to stir trouble for Mary and Dickon - and there is quite a bit of Mary/Dickon 'alone time' in this chapter, which should please most of you!**

**Please leave me a comment or two and let me know what you think! I love hearing from you guys! xx Elyzia.**

* * *

**Beyond the Secret Garden:**

**Chapter 8**

The moonlight was the only thing guiding her way, as Mary Lennox made her way down the marble steps, and towards the gardens. She walked cautiously, yet quickly, every sense on full alert, knowing full well the consequences of her actions should she be caught. Only one thing was on her mind – that she would be seeing Dickon alone, without the possibility of them being interrupted. That thought alone was enough to send her heart racing.

She trembled with anticipation at the thought of Dickon kissing her, of him holding her just like he had done earlier that day. And she knew there had to be more. She wasn't exactly sure as to what but her body told her that she had yet to be fulfilled.

So she walked quickly, her sensitive hearing listening for any unexpected noises, and her eyes searching intently. As she walked, she cast furtive glances over her shoulder every few steps, for added assurance that she wasn't being followed. She had taken every precaution to ensure that her movements that night remain secret. She had gone to bed early, claiming a headache and issuing a command that no one was to disturb her until the morning. She knew how respectful the servants usually were of such matters.

With trembling hands, she pushed open the door of the Secret Garden, wincing at the creaking sound the old door made as it was opened. The sound had never bothered her in the daytime, but now in the stillness of the night it seemed to echo down the path and beyond until she was certain it could be heard all the way to the house. Still, there was nothing she could do about it. Quickly, she slid through the gap, making her way down the narrow path that led to the garden – and, she hoped, to Dickon.

As promised, he was there waiting for her, sitting on a low bench towards the far corner of the garden. Her heart seemed to leap in her chest as she caught sight of him. Ignoring all thoughts of proper decorum, she ran to where he was waiting for her, stopping short of where he was sitting.

'Tha came.' He managed to say, in a voice choked full of emotion. 'Tha' is really here.'

Suddenly she felt shy, and a little overwhelmed. Hesitantly, she hung back, the magnitude of what the two of them were doing beginning to sink in. Mutely she nodded in answer to his statement, suddenly not knowing how to proceed. Dickon as a grown man, and they were alone together. She looked at him, his long and lanky form as he sat on the bench. He was attired in a shirt she had not seen him wear before and it stood out stark and white against the moonlight. He looked clean, freshly scrubbed. She longed to touch him, but she held back.

'Come, sit wi' me.' The lad said, gesturing to the space beside him on the bench. She obliged, feeling her heart pounding at the nearness of him. She looked at his arms, lean and wiry with muscle, she swallowed nervously.

'We're really alone now.' She said in a shaking voice, giving rise to the subtle fear she felt.

'Aye. Away from all o' them. Just th' two of us.' He replied, moving closer to her. 'Thank you for comin'.'

'That's quite alright, Dickon. You haven't been waiting long, have you?' she said, desperate to end the silence that stretched on between them and quell the uneasiness that she felt inside.

'No, not long.' He replied. 'Just enough time t' give me a chance t' think. I wanted to say…..' he trailed off, as though deciding what he should say. 'I wanted t' say that….'

He brought one hand up to her face and tenderly traced a fingertip down her cheek. 'Tha' is so beautiful, Miss Mary. So lovely.'

She brought a shaking hand up to his forehead, soothing a lock of dark hair away from his face. She saw him close his eyes slowly, as though he were savouring her touch. She felt his skin as she moved her hand down his face, tracing his jaw with her finger, feeling the stubble that adorned it. Moving her hand lower, she lightly flitted a finger down his neck, enjoying the warmth and softness of his skin. Dickon opened his eyes, and smiled gently at her, a smile of such warmth and trust. She leant forward and kissed him lightly, and he kissed her back, just as gently.

They broke apart, staring intently at the other.

'I had no idea kisses could be so nice.' Confessed Mary, taking Dickon's hands in hers.

'Nor did I.' the lad replied. 'Tha' is the first girl I have ever kissed.'

'Really?' she said in astonishment, although the news was hardly surprising. 'You mean you haven't…..?' her voice trailed off.

'Never.' He said. 'Not wi' anyone.'

'I don't know why Dickon, but that makes me feel glad.'

He nodded. 'Me too.'

'Will you kiss me again?' she asked, surprising herself with her daring. _Just where exactly had that come from?_

He responded by leaning closer to her. She closed her eyes, and then felt the warmth of his mouth on hers. They kissed longer, and more deeply and once again Mary felt that strange yet lovely feeling within her beginning to build, spiralling upwards with gathering intensity. She felt Dickon's mouth on hers, and his arms as they wrapped around the small of her back, holding her tightly to him. She placed her hands hesitantly on his back, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the light fabric of his shirt. She found herself longing to touch him, to feel the softness of his skin, to run her hands over the hard muscles she felt. They broke apart, and Dickon gave her a queer look, one she had not seen on his face before.

'Tha' was verra nice.' He murmured.

'Dickon.' She began nervously, biting her lip. 'I would like to…. Can I …..? Can I touch you?' she indicated towards his chest, feeling a blush build on her cheeks.

He looked down, comprehending what she meant.

'Tha' means…..? Oh, I see.' he gestured towards his shirt, then wordlessly began to untuck it from his trousers. Once he was done he gently took her hands and guided them around his back, placing them up under his shirt. She felt his warm skin greet her fingers, and she gently moved her hands upwards. He leaned down and embraced her again. Touching Dickon felt so good, and he was obviously enjoying it too, for the intensity of his embrace deepened. She moved her hands from his back around to his front, feeling the light sprinkling of hair around his belly button and heard him groan in pleasure.

'I… oh… tha' feels so good.' He moaned, as she continued to stroke his skin. His voice cracked, as though he was struggling to maintain control. Mary felt delight surge up in her, that she had the power to make Dickon feel this way. Softly, wordlessly, she felt him bend down and then felt his lips brush her neck, she shivered with delight, longing for him to continue.

At length they broke apart.

'That was…….. incredible, Dickon.' Mary said, her breath coming hard. She paused, looking at the young man who sat in front of her whose breath was also coming in gasps. 'I had no idea I could feel that way.'

'Aye. T'was verra good.' The lad replied, shifting as though uncomfortable. 'But I think we should probably stop for th' time being.' then seeing her look of disappointment, confessed 'I don't think I'll be able t' stop if we don't stop now.'

'Oh…' she said, gaining an inkling of his meaning, relieved that the light of the moon meant he couldn't see her blushing.

'Shall I walk thee back?' he asked, standing up and taking her hand in his.

She nodded, 'Thank you Dickon. That would be nice.'

They walked in silence towards through the secret garden and beyond to the dark walkway, each lost in their own thoughts. Mary savoured the warmth of Dickon's hand in hers, enjoying his nearness. They reached the end of the walk, and he reached down to kiss her before they parted.

'Goodnight then, Miss Mary.' Dickon said as they parted. Mary leant in closer and gave him her parting gift.

'I love you, Dickon Sowerby.' She whispered in his ear, smiling, running quickly down the path before he had a chance to answer.

Too stunned to do anything else, Dickon stood immobile in the shadows, a huge grin breaking over his face.

* * *

Sunday was the one day of the week where the servants of Misselthwaite were allowed time to fulfil their own pursuits. They worked in the morning and then had the rest of the day free at their disposal. For many this included visiting family, or catching up with friends. For Robert and Susie, this was no exception. They had left the manor as early as was deemed acceptable, and were now on their way to the village, to partake in a family dinner.

They chatted amicably on the back of the goods cart, which was providing them with a means of transport, as they made their way into the nearby village of Thwaite. As it almost always does with servants, the conversations turned to the comings and goings of the house. However, Susie Birdwood had an altogether different agenda on her mind, far from the regular gossiping of servants.

'Has tha' noticed how much time Mistress Mary spends wi' Dickon Sowerby?' the young maid asked, even though she already knew the answer.

'Th' two of them hae' been friends since childhood.' Replied her cousin, as he lazily stretched back on his seat, his arms folded behind his head. Seeing her inquiring look, he added 'They're friends, Susie. Tha's all.'

She sniffed. 'And she is a lady, Robert. She is no' of the same folk as we are… or Dickon for tha' matter. She has no business spendin' time wi' him.'

Robert grinned. 'Ooh… jealous now, are we?'

Her eyes blazed in hurt and anger. 'Of course not! Why would I be jealous of her an' Dickon? Nothin' can ever come o' it, anyway.'

'Come of what?' Robert's eyes narrowed.

'Oh, nothing. Forget I said anything.' She turned away, busying herself with watching the view from her seat on the carriage, knowing that once her cousin's curiosity was aroused, he would do anything to fulfil it.

'No, tha' has my attention now. Tell me wha' tha' knows. I know thee Susie, tha' is keepin' somethin' from me.'

She licked her lips, feigning innocence. 'It's just that I heard Mistress Mary has been promised to a rich banker in London…. And wouldn't he be furious if he knew that –'

'Knew what?' Robert interrupted, unable to help himself.

'Knew that she was spending so much time with the gardening boy. And that they were….. oh, but it isn't my place to say.' She turned away again, so Robert couldn't see her smile.

'Susie' he said slowly. 'Tell me wha' tha' knows.'

'I know I shouldn't speak ill of th' mistress, but I think…. I think she may be leadin' him on. I just don't want to see Dickon get hurt.' She blurted out, padding out the lie. 'He is such a lovely lad, an I respect him so much. I think she is promisin' him things tha' can never come t' pass.'

'Tha' hast seen somethin', hasn't thee?' Robert surmised. 'But tha' can tell me, Susie. We're family. We don't keep anythin' from each other.'

She nodded, trying to look concerned, all the better for Robert to think that it was a serious matter. She looked around, as though to make sure no one was listening – although they were alone with only the driver at the front of the cart, and she whispered the four damming words in his ear 'I saw them _together._'

* * *

While Robert and Susie were preparing to leave for the Village, Mary and Mrs Medlock were preparing to pay a visit to Martha Sowerby, Dickon's older sister.

'Just remember, Martha is very busy at the present time.' The old housekeeper reminded Mary. Mary mutely nodded. She heard the same speech every time they went to visit. 'You must not stay for too long.'

'You're not coming in with me, Mrs Medlock?' Mary asked. The housekeeper shook her head. 'I have some messages to run in the village. I shall do these while you visit with Martha. You may wait for me in the carriage if your visit proves shorter than expected. I shan't be long.'

The two women parted ways, and Mary approached the door to Martha's house, knocking firmly.

'Just a minute.' She heard Martha's cheery voice ring out. And then the door was opened and Mary was enveloped in a bone crushing hug. She hugged the woman back, equally pleased to see her.

'It's been too long since I saw tha' lovely face!' Martha enthused, shooing Mary in through the door. 'Welcome back, Miss Mary!'

Mary smiled, it was hard not to when one was around Martha. Her happiness was infectious.

'Please Martha, how many times do I need to remind you that it is just 'Mary', not Miss Mary?'

'Oh, I know, old habits die hard I expect. Come now, can I get thee anythin'? cup o' tea, warm scone? I just made some and they are nice an' fresh.' Martha rattled around the small kitchen preparing the 'victuals' while Mary took a seat at the table. The young woman could not help feeling comfortable in the tiny house that Martha shared with her husband, Andrew, and her young baby. She looked around, taking in the familiar sights of the many polished pots and pans, the photos that adorned the wall, and works of embroidery that Martha had created. It was a very warm and welcoming home indeed.

'I'll just go an' get Jemmy.' The young Mother said, as the kettle was boiling. She returned carrying her tiny infant.

'Oh Martha, he has grown so much since I last saw him.' Mary exclaimed in delight, as Martha placed the young baby in her arms. Carefully she held him, admiring his hair and freckles. 'He gets more lovely every day!'

'Aye, he is growin' fast.' Martha smiled fondly. 'He certainly keeps me busy! I often wonder how Mother did it, wha' wi' the ten o' us!' she laughed.

The tea was poured and the two women sat at the table together, talking animatedly. Once the small talk was over, Martha's expression became serious, and she broached the topic that was first and foremost on the young woman's mind.

'So I hear tha' will be movin' t' London soon?' she asked, taking a sip of tea.

Mary nodded, looking away from Martha' earnest face.

'I'm expected to be leaving in less than two weeks.'

'I shall miss thee, Miss Mary. An I'm sure I won't be th' only one who will.'

Mary felt emotion surge through her and her eyes filled up with tears. She blinked rapidly, trying to turn her thoughts from Martha, and Dickon and all those who cared for her, but it was impossible. She wiped at her eyes furiously. She had never cried in front of Martha before.

'Oh Miss! Don't tha' cry.' Martha said anxiously. She went up to the younger woman and gave her a hug. 'It's going t' be alright, Miss Mary. Tha' will be back in no time.'

Mary found it to be true that once one begins crying, it is almost impossible to stop. She felt an ache building in her throat and she swallowed convulsively. The tears flowed freely and she clung to the older woman – her friend and confidante of so many years. She desperately wanted to tell her what was on her mind.

'I'm going to miss everyone so much, Martha.' She sobbed, tears streaking down her cheeks. 'Especially…. Especially Dickon.'

'There now, Miss Mary.' Martha said, stroking her shoulder. 'He will miss thee too, but tha' will be back again at Misselthwaite. Tha' will see him again.'

Mary shook her head. 'I don't think you understand, Martha. It's so much more than that.' She turned to see the perplexity that was building on Martha's face, which was followed by a dawning realisation. 'Wha' doest tha' mean, Miss?'

'I'm….,' she swallowed nervously, unsure of how Martha would take the news. She was Dickon's older sister, after all. 'I'm in love with him, Martha.'

'Oh!' Martha's expression of surprise would have been comical if it was a different situation. 'Oh Miss Mary!'

'And I… I'm pretty certain that he loves me too….'

Martha leant back and let out a whistling breath. 'Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Tha' is all he talks about when he comes t' visit.'

'What am I going to do, Martha? I don't want to leave him!'

'If I know our Dickon, he will wait for thee, Miss Mary.'

'But I will have no way of contacting him! I can't even write to him! It would look suspicious…… I'm just beginning to realise how much he means to me and now I have to leave.'

'If tha' wishes t' contact him, tha' could always send th' letters here, Miss Mary.' Martha said steadily. 'I could pass 'em on t' him. T'would be no trouble.'

'Oh Martha….. could you really? That would be so much of a help.'

Martha nodded. 'An I couldn't think of anyone better for our Dickon, than the stubborn slip o' a girl that came into our lives six years ago.'

The two young women hugged once again, and Mary rested her head on Martha's shoulder, feeling some of the anxiety and tension she had been holding in, begin to drain away. She had a means of communicating with Dickon! Perhaps everything would work out?

'Now, how about one of these Scones.' Martha said, giving Mary one final pat on the back before offering her the plate from the table. 'Mother says that nothin' is better for a body than some warm home baking.'

Mary took the scone and settled back in her chair. Things really were beginning to look as though they would work out after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**This chapter was difficult to write, but I finally got there, and got it posted! please forgive any errors you come across (or better still, point them out to me so I can correct them!). Also, I had to cut a large part of this chapter out due to adult content... erm... so if you want to read it, let me know and I'll post the 'lemon' part of the chapter on my fanfiction blog. It was just going to be a little too explicit for and I don't want to get kicked off the site!  
**

**Please leave a review if you can. Reviews are the only reward I get for writing this, and I love hearing what people think of the story. **

* * *

**Beyond the Secret Garden: Chapter 9**

I

Sarah Clare crept slowly through the darkened corridors of Misselthwaite manor, taking care to step lightly. She had just completed her duties for the evening, and the young maid knew how Mrs Medlock preferred the servants to be 'neither seen nor heard' by the Masters and Mistresses of the manor house.

So she walked softly down the hallway, stepping carefully, and using a small lantern to light her way. She frowned at the shadows it cast down into the long darkness, illuminating old portraits in an almost deathly glow. Residents of Misselthwaite Manor – some centuries old, stared at her with solemn, condemning expressions. She passed them quickly, not wanting to stop and look for the irrational fear that their really was someone behind the painting, behind the canvas, watching her. She thought of her small bed, in the Servants quarters and how good it would feel to put her feet up. She would light a small fire and the room would soon be warm and cosy. She was so deep in thought that she jumped at the muffled sound that seemed to be coming from almost right beside her.

She paused, holding her breath, her ears straining. It had almost sounded like…. Could it be? Someone was crying.

She followed the sound, quickly realising that it came from none other than her Mistresses room.

Sarah Clare was a compassionate girl, and her heart ached for her young mistress. She knew how much Mary hated the idea of going to live in London, she could see it on her face every morning when she helped her dress. The young woman hadn't been the same since she had been told the devastating news. Sarah had never seen her cry, but now she guessed the reason why. Mary was waiting until she was alone and everyone was asleep, until she let the tears fall.

Did she dare? Yes, she did. She pushed open the heavy oak door that lead to her young charges room, and walked over to the trembling bundle that lay on the bed.

* * *

II

Mary Lennox sat on the edge of her bed, her face illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. In her hands she held a small pile of photographs, and she was flicking through these with a nostalgic expression on her face.

They were photographs that had been taken over the years, of her adventures with Colin and Dickon. She paused longer over some than others, reliving for a few seconds that moment that accompanied the picture.

'There we are on that old swing.' She thought, with a sad smile, as she came upon a photograph of her with Colin and Dickon. Why Colin and I couldn't have been more than ten years old when that photograph was taken. She looked fondly at the picture. All three of them were smiling at the camera and Mary remembered then who had taken the photo – her Uncle Archie.

She didn't notice the first small tear that made its way down her cheek, but she did notice the ache that continued to build in her heart. She carefully returned the photo to the bottom of the pile, now focusing her attention on the one that followed it.

She stared at the next photo in the pile, realising it had been taken only a couple of years ago. She had been fourteen then, and Colin had already spent a year in London. Dickon, by that stage, had become under-gardener at Misselthwaite.

All three of them were sitting on the lawn in the Secret Garden, involved in a picnic of some kind. Obviously, Colin had returned home for the school holidays. All three of them were smiling, and for the first time Mary looked closely at the photo and noticed the fond smile on Dickon's face as he stared in her direction. It was the same smile she had seen so many times, the smile she loved. The ache in her heart became unbearable, and her vision blurred.

She would be leaving in a few days time. Leaving for months, possibly years – and would not see Dickon again, save for the odd time that she would return. How would she be able to bear it? The full enormity of what would be happening caught her by surprise. Until now it hadn't seemed real – it had felt like a vague thing that would be happening in the future – a reality that didn't belong to her. She thought of Dickon's good, earnest face, of his smile and the voice that comforted her. She would not be seeing Dickon again for a long, long time. The tears spilled down Mary's cheeks and she felt a sob rising in her throat. It escaped her lips and she put her head in her hands and cried, the photographs falling to the floor.

So deep was her grief that she barely noticed Sarah entering her room, and running over to her. She only felt the girls arms wrap around her trembling body as she gave herself up to her sobs.

'Oh Miss!' the young maid was saying. 'Please don't cry.'

'I can't bear it!' she said, her voice coming out choked, and she barely recognised it as her own. 'I only have three days left and don't want to go.' She looked up wildly into the worried eyes of her young maid. Could she trust her? She had to tell someone. Sarah's look was of worry for her and her concern seemed sincere. Surely she would understand? She wiped the tears from her eyes and whispered 'how can I leave him, Sarah?'

'Who dost tha' mean, Miss Mary?' the girl said, still stroking her shoulders.

'It's someone you know rather well, I should think. I want to … Can I …Can I tell you a secret, Sarah?' she gulped. 'I ….. I have to tell someone, I feel as though I'm about to go mad thinking about it.' She took the girls hands and looked at her earnestly, pleading silently with her eyes. 'Please. Can I trust you?'

'Of course, Miss Mary.' The girl said at once, concern on her features. 'Tha' can tell me anythin'.'

'Promise you won't tell a soul.' She held the girls hands tightly in her own, and the young maid noticed the wild and desperate look that came over her Mistresses face. 'No one can know.'

Sarah nodded, and she noticed some of the tension drain from the young woman's face.

'Of course I won't tell anyone, Miss.'

Mary looked away, before saying in a shaking voice. 'I'm in love with Dickon, Sarah. And he's …. He's in love with me.'

* * *

III

'Your Uncle wishes to see you.' Came Mrs Medlock's curt address the following morning.

Mary had been sitting lifelessly at her dressing table, while Sarah arranged her hair for the day. What did it all matter, she thought of having her hair dressed this way? All she wanted to do was climb back into bed and stay there until she could be with Dickon. She had not been surprised to see Mrs Medlock enter the room. The housekeeper often came in to oversee Sarah's morning preparations.

'What does he wish to see me about?' Mary asked, frowning. Her Uncle had never requested her presence this early in the day. She wondered, with a sinking feeling, what it was that couldn't wait until later.

'He requested your presence immediately. I do not know why.' She stated bluntly. 'Finish preparing Miss Lennox's hair, Sarah.' The housekeeper requested, then turned to Mary. 'You are to make your way up to his library as soon as you are ready.'

* * *

IV

Mary walked slowly up the stairs that lead to her Uncle's study. The feeling of dread seeming to grow with every step she took. She did not want to see her Uncle, nor hear what he had to say. She thought of the smug expression that the old housekeeper had given her on her way out. The old woman knew something - that much was certain. Something was going on, something important that concerned her and Mary hated being kept in the dark, not knowing.

What was it? What was it that couldn't wait?

She reached the door to her Uncle's library and her heart pounded furiously as she pushed it open.

She looked over, and saw him seated in his usual place near the fire, behind a large desk, with his Mastiffs at his feet. He looked up, wearily, as she entered and she detected a certain – was it nervousness? – about him. He met her gaze briefly, before withdrawing it.

'Ah, you have come, child.' He stated, getting up to greet her. 'Please, sit down.' He indicated towards one of the chairs that faced his desk.

'You wished to see me?' her voice came out weak, fearful of what he had to say.

'Yes. I have some news that concerns you.' He paused, pouring himself a whiskey. She noticed his hands were trembling. 'It is regarding the date of your departure from Misselthwaite.'

She felt her heart sink at those words, suddenly realising why he had called her to see him so urgently.

He caught her expression of horror, and continued, seeing no point in delaying the truth.

'I'm afraid that due to the way the trains are timetabled, you will now be departing first thing tomorrow morning. I have sent Mrs Medlock to begin packing your belongings.'

The news hit her full force like a blow to the chest. She leaned back into her chair as though she had been wounded. Tomorrow? it couldn't be. Her mind swam in confusion, and then building anger.

'But I thought I wouldn't be leaving for another three days!' she exclaimed, with outrage. 'and now you say it is tomorrow?'

She looked at him closely, noting the lines upon his forehead, the streaks of grey in his hair, the way his hand trembled when he brought his drink to his mouth.

'I really am sorry, Mary. I'm afraid you will have to spend today making your goodbyes. Perhaps it would do you some good to spend the remainder of your day in your garden?'

Her thoughts flew madly. Spend the rest of the time in the garden? Make her goodbyes? She would be departing tomorrow. Dickon's face rose in her mind, and she thought of how she was going to tell him.

'Don't worry, I intend to.' She bit back, getting up and pushing her chair away from her in haste. Her voice trembled as she said 'I don't think I could bear to spend another moment in this house.'

'Mary! Wait!' her Uncle called, getting up himself, as she flew from the room. She slammed the door shut behind her, almost disturbing one of the maids in her haste as she fled down the long hallway, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

V

She was waiting for him in the Secret Garden.

He had finished work as early as he dared, had changed into clean clothes, and then made his way to their garden.

Spending time with Mary had become the highlight of Dickon's day. He had always enjoyed seeing her, but never before had he lived for it. He wasn't sure now how he had ever made it through the day without the reassurance that she would be waiting for him when he finished work. Previously, Dickon had enjoyed his work in the kitchen gardens, but now it all seemed so tedious and he spent a large part of the day looking over his shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of her through the trees. He pushed the thought of her immanent departure to the back of his mind. They still had a few days together, best to enjoy the moment and not worry too much about the future.

In reality, Dickon had not begun to think about Mary's departure. The thought was too upsetting, too raw. He tried not to think about it. A naïve part of him believed that if he wanted it enough it would go away, that Mary wouldn't be leaving for London. That they could continue as they always had – in spending time in the garden, and with each other.

He thought of her now. Pale skin, beginning to tan from the longer days and time spent in the garden. Hair, the colour of warm hay. He thought of her scent. Soft and inviting, like a rose on a warm day. How he longed to hold her in his arms, to feel her soft skin, and immerse himself in her. He thought of her nature – her headstrong ways, her determination, the beauty that she held deep inside. Dickon was intoxicated with her, she was all that he could think about.

When he reached her, she was crying. Small, silent tears. He immediately went up to her and put his arms around her, feeling as though his heart would break.

'I'm to leave tomorrow, Dickon. Tomorrow!'

He recoiled. 'But I thought it was supposed t' be in a few days…..' he managed. She drew back and looked up at him, with her tear-filled eyes.

'My Uncle told me this morning that I have to leave tomorrow. Due to the trains and… oh Dickon! It is too soon.'

He took her in his arms and soothed her as she cried, feeling a wave of sadness sweep through him. Time really as running out for both of them, as he had feared it would. But this news was much worse than he could have possibly anticipated. He held her tightly, not wanting to let her go, barely noticing that soon, he too was crying.

'I don't want to think about it anymore, Dickon.' She was saying, against his chest. 'I want to stop thinking. Please, help me stop it.'

He bent down and softly kissed the tears from her cheeks, and then his lips found her mouth. She responded to him in a way that he had never felt before – wild and passionate, and he surprised himself with the intensity in which he reciprocated her embrace.

The early spring sunshine shone down on them as he pulled her towards him on the grass, and she went willingly. He embraced her again, wondering if he could ever get enough of her, of her soft lips, her firm kisses. Slowly, he pushed her back onto the lush grass of the garden, until they were laying side by side. He heard her sigh, and then felt her hands pushing up into the back of his shirt, and then they were stroking his skin.

'I love thee.' He whispered to her then. 'I've always loved thee.'

She was crying again, and he heard her say through her tears 'I've always loved you, Dickon.'

'Oh Dickon, what will become of us?' she asked, giving voice to the fear that he felt inside. He looked at her, wondering how he would be able to live without her, without waking up knowing that he would see her. He wondered how he was going to face each day knowing that she was far away in London. He remembered something his Mother had said to him once, and he said it to her now.

'Just remember, we may be far apart – but we are together under the same sky. I will wait for thee, Mary.'

She smiled softly, the secret smile she reserved just for him.

'And I will wait for you Dickon. I will come back.'

* * *

VI

Earlier that day, Susie Birdwood has seen Mary Lennox flee from the house, in tears – the young woman having nearly knocked her over in her haste to get away.

It was becoming a common sight these days, she thought, and inwardly she rolled her eyes, while feeling her anger rise. She had no doubt that her young Mistress was seeking the sanctuary of her 'secret garden' and the calming embrace of her 'moor boy'. The news of Mary's planned departure the next day had spread through the servants quarters like wildfire and Mary Lennox had not been seen in the manor all day. Mrs Medlock had offered to send someone to look for her, but Archibald Craven had declined, merely stating that his niece would be best left alone. Alone to be with Dickon, Susie thought angrily as she swept the floor. She seethed with jealousy at the thought of Mary Lennox alone with Dickon Sowerby. Dickon Sowerby – the young man she had danced with, who should by right be hers.

Susie knew that she was attractive – Everyone she knew had been telling her so for years, and it seemed evident when all the men around her hung on her every word and would do her bidding when asked – all except one that was. Dickon Sowerby.

I'll win him over, just wait to see that I don't, she thought angrily, sweeping the floor roughly. With _"Mistress Mary"_ out of the way, it will be easy. He will be mine in no time. She threw the broom aside, listening in satisfaction as it clattered on the floor. Once Mary Lennox was out of the way, she could begin to set things in motion. She sat still, a plan forming in her mind, and she began to smile.

* * *

VII

They have all gathered to see me off, Mary thought bitterly. All except one.

Dickon was absent from the crowd that had assembled in front of the house. Her eyes searched for him, through the crowd of faces, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The carriage began its slow rumble down the long gravel path, taking her away from the only place she had ever really considered a home.

The moor flew by in a blur of colour, a sea of green and purple. She turned so she was facing the window completely, and tried to immerse herself in the wild and natural beauty of it, as though for the final time.

Then she saw him, standing on a nearby hill.

He was illuminated against the sky, a lone figure on a solitary moor, far away in the distance, watching the carriage. He brought a hand up in an indication of farewell.

She traced her hand to the cold pane of glass, willing him to see her, to understand that she would not let him go.

She held his gaze for as long as she could, her fingers against the glass. She remembered his touch, the warmth of his hand on hers, imagining now that she was standing by his side, her hand within his, together on the moor they both loved.

The carriage rounded a corner and Dickon disappeared from view.

Mary Lennox sat back in the seat of the carriage, and gave herself up to her tears.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi all, **

**It's been a while since the previous instalment - almost a month! how time flies. I don't have much time to write at the moment, so this chapter - short as it is - will have to suffice. As always, PLEASE PLEASE let me know what you think via a review - how I could improve it, or where the story should be going in terms of plot. Having said that, I do have the basic plot mapped out, it'll probably be a rather long story, but all things should be resolved by the end. Of course, things are not going to go smoothly for Mary and Dickon - they will have their fair share of conflict to work through. **

**Reviews always make my day, so please leave one. It is the only reward I get for doing this. **

**xx Elyzia**

* * *

**Beyond the Secret Garden**

**Chapter 10**

The moors flew by in a blur of green, purple, and brown as Dickon urged his horse on ever faster. He rode hard, his dark hair streaming out behind him. Inside his pocket, his latest letter from Mary lay hidden, and safe.

He had to wait until later that night before opening the precious correspondence. As soon as he was alone in his room, he removed the envelope carefully from his pocket, pausing to bring it to his nose. Closing his eyes, he breathed in, imagining that the paper still carried some faint scent of her – a trace of her existence, to prove to him that she was real, not just some enchanting dream. He inspected the envelope carefully. As usual, she had inscribed Martha's name on the front – they both knew that if she were to write directly to him it would arouse suspicion. He paused for a moment, admiring her elegant script, inwardly comparing it to his own messy scrawl. She was all things dainty and precise – he was rough cast and of the earth.

He always savoured this moment before opening her letter and greedily devouring the contents. It was these few moments that Dickon loved best – the anticipation of what was to come.

The feeble glow from his bedside candle provided just enough light to read by, but Dickon was determined. He read slowly, not wanting the letter to come to an end.

_My darling Dickon,_ the letter began.

_This morning I am imagining you walking across the moor and that I am with you. Together we would listen to the dawn chorus and you would be able to identify every different bird-call and you would teach them to me. I would be happy then, much happier than I am now, in this cold, grey and indifferent place. There are no gardens here in London – at least none that I can see. _

_Allow me to acquaint you with the family I am staying with. As you know, Dr Sutherland is a friend of Colin's Uncle, Dr Craven. He has two daughters – Patricia, and Samantha. Patricia being the older daughter, and Samantha is around my own age. Living with them also, is Mrs Sutherland's Mother, Mrs Harrop. _

_The days are fairly monotonous. We have our lessons in the morning, followed by a lengthy morning tea and then resume our lessons. The afternoons are spent paying calls to various friends of Mrs Sutherland and Mrs Harrop and Samantha and I dread these visits as they are frightfully dreary._

Dickon paused, laughing out loud. 'Eh lass, how I miss thee!' he said, imagining how she would sit there, with the sour look on her face that he knew so well. He resumed reading.

_I have approached Dr Sutherland about the possibility of creating a small garden at the back of the house, and so far he has voiced no objections. I am hoping to teach Samantha a little bit about gardening – a topic in which she is far from knowledgable. But Dickon, what is gardening without you next to me to help me dig up a particularly stubborn weed, or to say something to make me laugh? I miss you dreadfully, so much sometimes that it feels like a dull ache that just won't go away. I am only left dreaming of the time that I can return to Misselthwiate... and to you. _

Dickon put down the letter, and lay back on his bed. He would have to bear the loss of her companionship for the time being. What other choice did he have?

* * *

Dickon had often wondered as to the nature of the feelings Susie Birdwood supposedly had towards him, (from what he had been told from Robert, among others), but nothing could have prepared him for the moment that he walked into his room and found her there waiting for him.

He stopped in the doorway and stared. There was a girl – a young woman – sitting on his bed. She turned around as she heard him enter, and she smiled at him.

'Hello, Dickon.' she said, dipping her head coyley. 'I was wondering when tha' would come in.' she continued as he stood, astonished. 'Didn't tha' Mother ever tell thee that tis bad manners t' keep a lady waitin?'

'Susie? Wha-' he said unable to finish. Instead he stood, staring in bewilderment at the young red haired woman that sat on his single bed. He wondered if he ought to rub his eyes. Surely this was some sort of dream? Perhaps it was a hallucination brought on by over-exerting himself in the garden? The thought of running back outside into the cool night air and away from this apparition was almost overwhelming.

'Dickon', she said, getting up lazily, and coming towards him. 'I had to see you. I just can't seem t' get you alone.'

'Susie.' he began unsteadily, wondering how to proceed, how he could make her leave. An unpleasant thought crossed his mind -What if Ben Weatherstaff was to hear them talking?

'Please, keep tha' voice quiet, he implored in a loud whisper. Wha is tha' doing here?'

'Why, t' see you of course, Dickon!' she exclaimed. 'Why else?'

He flung up his hands, entirely confused, wishing only that she would leave.

'I've seen the way you look me, out there.' she began, moving closer towards him. She placed her hands on him, trying to pull him towards her. 'I know thee, Dickon Sowerby. I know what you want.'

'What I want,' he hissed, pushing her away roughly, 'is for thee to get out, now.'

Inwardly, Dickon prayed that she had now got the message – that she wasn't wanted.

'Surely you can't mean that.' she pouted. 'You danced with me at the village dance. You,' she paused, and looked up at him with angry and hurt eyes before repeating, 'you offered to dance with me. Now all you can say is that you want me t' get out?'

'Yes.' he said, softening his tone a little. He knew he wouldn't frighten her, but he didn't want her to see how desperately he wanted her to leave. 'Please Susie. Just leave me be.'

'I bet tha' wouldn't say that if I were Miss Mary Lennox.' she bit back angrily, her blue eyes flashing in defiance, and her accent becoming broader in her anger. 'Tha' would welcome me then, wi' open arms I've no doubt!'

He felt his blood go cold in his veins, and met her fiery glance. How could she have known? Did she mean...?

'I don't know what thee is talkin' about.' he began, deciding to hold onto hope that she was just speculating. 'Miss Mary is my friend – same as Master Colin – we've all known each other since we were but Bairns.'

'Don't lie to me, Dickon.' she hissed. 'I know thee is more than 'just friends' wi' her. I've seen thee wi' her. An' if you don't do what I say, I may have t' tell Master Craven. I'm sure he'd be horrified to think wha' his Niece has been getting' up to.'

'Tha' wouldn't ...' he began, before trailling off. He could tell that she meant exactly what she said.

'I need you to do something for me, Dickon. Now listen carefully.'


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: June 1908**

How could it be that six weeks had passed, yet she remained in London? Not for the first time that morning, Mary Lennox found her thoughts returning to Yorkshire, the moors - and of course, to Misselthwaite.

Spring was rapidly turning into summer, the days growing longer and warmer. Not that you could tell when you were trapped in such a grey city, thought Mary bitterly. She glanced briefly out of her bedroom window, to a sea of dull brick buildings and the odd tree. From where she sat, she could just make out the barest hint of green on the horizon – one of the many parks that adorned London. She sighed, feeling the sun on the bare skin of her arms – the day promised to be hot – and she closed her eyes briefly, trying to capture an image of the Secret Garden in her mind.

She knew that she was missing the most vibrant time of year for the garden. This year she wouldn't be enjoying the sea of colour provided by the daffodils, bluebells, and snowdrops. She wouldn't get to enjoy the heady scent of the roses, or smell the warm earth as she sifted it through her fingers. She would not hear the chirping of the Robin as he showed off looking for a mate. With a sinking feeling in her heart she realised something that had been lurking in the back of her mind for the past few weeks. She was going to be here for quite some time – and she didn't know when she would be going home.

With the same intensity that she missed the Secret Garden, and the moors, she missed Dickon. She pined for him, ached for his touch, his reassuring words, the smell of him – all earthy and pure. As she had done, countless times before, she replayed their final parting in her mind. She recalled how warm his body had felt next to hers, how his arms had encircled her and held her tightly against him. Those words that he had whispered, which haunted her still: _'Just remember, we may be far apart – but we are together under the same sky. I will wait for thee, Mary.' _

She had received another letter from Dickon that morning, and she turned it over in her hands now, not wanting to open it – wishing to delay the moment for as long as possible. She was dying to read it – to devour it's contents, yet in doing so, she would reaffirm once again the distance that was now between them. In reading Dickon's letter, every fantasty that she played out in her mind – of her being at Misselthwaite still – would come crashing down.Yet she anticipated the moment she would begin to read, to hear Dickon's voice once again in her mind – to smile at his words and laugh at the gossip from the house, and hear all the things that had been happening in the garden while she was gone. With resignation, she slowly tore the envelope open, then removed the sheets of paper that lay within, scribbled with boyish handwriting – the writer having tried to make the most of the space that he had.

She began reading, once more immersing herself in Dickon's world – a world that had been her's too, until six weeks ago.

In the letter, he spoke of the garden they had both tended together, and added little anecdotes of the creatures that lived there. '_The_ _Robin is in the middle of his courtship,_ _and I think they may soon be nest building'_, he had written. _'The cheeky fellow has been strutting around, puffing out his chest as though he owns the whole garden!' _Mary closed her eyes tightly, imagining Dickon's voice, hearing it so clearly. _'The garden doesn't seem the same without you. I go there now and half expect to see you bent over a flowerbed, tending it, with your stubborn look as you come across a particularly tough weed. I only hope that you return soon.'_

She couldn't wait to see Dickon again! She had so much to tell him. Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, she quickly gathered the letter together, shoving it under her pillow, hidden from sight. There was a quick knock on the door, and she sat up, hoping to look as though she had merely been engaged in reading.

'Mary!' the breathless voice announced, and she looked up to see Samantha Sutherland, the youngest daughter of Dr and Mrs Sutherland, her hosts, pushing open the door.

Mary smiled. She couldn't help but like the tomboyish girl that had become a firm friend to her over the past few weeks. Sam's company and friendship was one of the only things that had kept her going when she first came to London. Around the same age, the two girls had become close almost immediately.

'Oh, hello Sam,' she called out, hoping to sound as normal as possible.

'Have you heard the news?' the girl asked, coming over and taking a seat on Mary's bed. 'Colin is returning tonight!'

'Colin?' Mary replied, for a fleeting second not realising who Sam was referring to. Then an image of her cousin's face came to her mind. Colin Craven! Sam was talking about her cousin. All at once she felt excited and somewhat nervous. Seeing Colin here in London, it would remind her of Misselthwaite – and reaffirm in her mind that it was real. A sense of otherworldliness gripped her. Colin in London. Two worlds clashing together.

'He's..., ' she began, letting out her breath. 'He's to arrive tonight?'

Sama grinned widely, and absently flicking a strand of dark hair away from her face.

'Father said that he would be picking him up from the train station this afternoon.' the youngest daughter of Dr Sutherland strode over and took a seat next to her on the bed before continuing. 'I can't wait to see him, Mary!' Sam gushed, taking Mary's hands. 'And surely you will be looking forward to it, too. When did you last see Colin, anyway?'

Mary racked her brain. When had she last seen her cousin?

'Not for a couple of years, at least. Goodness!' she laughed 'I hardly know what I'll say to him.'

'Don't worry Mary. I'm sure he hasn't changed... much.' Sam added, teasingly.

'What do you mean by that?' Mary replied, picking up on the inference.

'Oh nothing.' the dark haired girl grinned, then quickly changed the subject. 'Come on, I need your advice on what to wear. It never hurts a girl to look her best.'

* * *

Colin's train may have arrived in the afternoon, but he did not arrive at the Sutherland residence until early that evening. Mary found herself impatiently tapping her fingers against her legs. Still feeling excited, her emotions were now becoming tinged with irritation. Trust Colin to keep them all waiting so he could make his grand appearance!

All of a sudden there were voices at the door, and all at once everyone sat up, tidied their hair, and tried not to look as though they'd been waiting for the past hour.

'Can you believe the traffic out there?' a voice was saying. Mary felt her ears prick up at the sound of it. Familiar, yet different. Could it be... Colin?

Dr Sutherland entered the room, accompanied by a tall young man. Mary looked up and felt her heart skip a beat. It was Colin! But this was Colin as she had never known him before. She took a few seconds to study him while he was conversing with Dr Sutherland. His skin was slightly tanned, his hair falling in waves about his face – in a longer style than most young men she knew. His eyes were bright and sparkling with happiness – perhaps this was how Lilias's eyes had once shone? - and he was talking amicably with Dr Sutherland, using his hands for emphasis. As they entered the room, he turned around, catching Mary's eye, a delighted grin spreading over his delicate features.

'Cousin Mary!' he almost yelled, striding over to her. Ignoring all thoughts of decorum, she found herself getting up out of her seat to be enfolded in a warm embrace. They parted and he took her hands, looking her up and down – the smile now holding a permanent place on his face.

'How are you?' he asked her.

'I'm ... I suppose I'm good.' for the moment, the earlier thoughts of desolation fleeing from her mind. 'It really has been too long, hasn't it?' she said, delighted to see him.

He laughed. 'It has! Goodness Mary, I barely recognised you! What have they been feeding you at home? You look,' he paused, searching for the right word. 'stunning, yes that's it. All grown up.'

'So do you.' she whispered, and nudged him, looking up. 'How did you get to be so ... tall?'

He shrugged, and shook his head. 'One of life's many mysteries.'

'Shall we be seated?' Dr Sutherland's voice interrupted, and attention was once again focused on the table and the party that waited there.

'Oh yes, of course. How rude of me.' Colin moved towards the edge of the table, greeting everyone in turn. Mary stood for a few seconds, her mind reeling over how different Colin had become. How grown up. Did she appear as different to him as he did to her? She watched as he greeted each person in turn, especially noticing how Sam's cheeks grew rosy as he leaned down to kiss her.

The evening progressed well, and eventually, Mary found herself alone with her cousin, after the last member of the Sutherland family had retired for the night. She realised that this was probably one of the only chances she would get to be with her cousin alone, and she planned to make the most of it. They were sitting beside the fireplace in the sitting room, sipping hot cups of tea, and watching the embers of the fire glow and crackle.

Colin was leaning back in his chair, watching Mary thoughtfully, and for not the first time that evening she felt slightly uneasy. They really hadn't seen each other for over two years, and so much had changed in that time. They exchanged small-talk, until eventually Colin broached the inevitable subject.

Looking her straight in the eye, he asked her the question she'd been waiting for all evening.

'So how do you really feel about being here, Cousin?'

At first she was unable to reply, his question bringing so many negative emotions to the surface. Not wanting to lie, but not wishing to tell him the full extent of her misery, she replied by stating: 'It's certainly not where I'd wish to be at the moment, were I given a choice.'

Colin's look was quizzical. 'You didn't wish to come here, then?'

She shook her head. 'Uncle Archie insisted that it was for my own good. That I needed to be 'turned into a lady.'' She said, the last part of the sentence sounding especially contrary.

'You're joking, right?' her cousin replied, catching her eye, and together they started laughing, feeling the time that had passed between them begin to diminish.

'I'm afraid not!' she added, wondering how simply laughing with someone could make her feel so much better.

'_Turn you into a lady_... lord knows Mary, I would never have thought of you and the word _"lady_" as existing in the same sentence together – much less the same universe. It seems as though Father is still exercising his rigid thinking.'

She sighed. 'What can I do? He insisted that I come here – I don't know when he will let me go home again. I can't stand it here, Colin. It's unbearable.'

'It's not so bad, you know.' he said softly. 'I too felt lonely when I first arrived. I missed everyone at Misselthaite – even Mrs Medlock! - that shows you how homesick I was! But gradually I grew to love the exciting and fast-paced life of the city. Mary, you cannot imagine what world awaits you out there – the things you can see and discover.'

She shook her head. 'All I want is to return to Yorkshire. I don't think I could ever be happy here.'

He reached out and gently touched her arm. 'It's not all bad, you'll see. Besides... I hear Dr Sutherland has a surprise visitor coming to stay soon. I wasn't meant to say anything about it, but... as my blood relation, I'm sure I can trust you.'

'Who is it?' she said, curious in spite of herself.

'A young man by the name of William Montgomery. And what is so interesting about him, I hear you ask? Well, he is none other than the only son of Captain Peter Montgomery – who was posted in India... in the same place as your Father if my memory serves me correctly.'

'His parent's were in India...' she gasped, suddenly realising the implications of what he was saying. 'Is he... an orphan, like me?'

Colin nodded. 'As far as I believe. His parents were killed in the same earthquake, six years ago. He has, until now been living with an old Uncle, outside of London. However, the Uncle has taken ill, so it has been arranged for William to stay here for the meantime. I only found out this afternoon, but we are expecting him to arrive within the week.'

Mary hadn't expected to hear such news, and it brought back memories of a time almost forgotten, that had been buried in the deep recesses of her mind. It had been six years since she had left India, and in that time she had barely given the place a backwards thought. Yet now images began to surface, she began to remember.

The heat, hot and dry – unbearable at times, the hushed voices of servants speaking in whispers so she could not hear, the frivolty of the dinner parties, the animals – particularly elephants. The tiger skin rug she had in her bedroom. Those things seemed to belong to another life – she had been another person then, different. A sickly, contrary child.

'It was all so long ago. India, that is.' she began. 'I can barely remember it. If he expects me to remember it, then I won't be able to tell him.'

'You used to be so good with the language.' Colin said dreamily. 'Remember when I was a boy you sung me to sleep in Hindustani?'

She smiled. 'Yes, only because you were being so irritable!'

He laughed. 'Yes, I'm sure. Lord knows, I was a trying child back then.' He got up from the couch, then walked over to her and leaned down, kissing her softly on the cheek.

'Goodnight, Cousin. It's been wonderful to see you again.'

'Goodnight, Colin.' she replied softly, watching him walk towards the door.

'Oh, and one last thing.'

'Yes.' he looked back.

'You're not as trying as I remember.'

He chuckled once more, before leaving the room, and leaving her alone to stare into the dying flames and contemplate the strange direction her life had taken.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Misselthwaite, June 1908**

'I want you to do something for me, Dickon.'

She sat on his bed, and stared at him coldly. She spoke slowly and firmly, while holding his gaze, not willing to let him go. He nodded slighly in answer, but did not speak.

'Good. Now, here's what tha will do. I want tha' t' write t' tha' precious Mistress Mary.'

Dickon felt his heart slowly sink in his chest.

'I want tha' t' say that you've moved on, found someone else – an' that she should, too.'

Dickon felt the blood drain from his face. Time seemed to slow down, the world shrinking until all that remained was him and Susie, in his tiny bedroom.

'I won't.' He said, without thinking.

'Tha will.' she replied passionately, her voice rising and her eyes narrowing. 'Tha knows what will happen if tha' doesn't.'

He shook his head. 'I can't. I won't do it t' her. T'would break her heart.' _and mine_, he thought.

She sighed impatiently. 'I'm getting tired Dickon. How many times now have I asked thee, and tha still hesitates? Perhaps this will help you change your mind.' She withdrew a folded piece of paper from the front of her dress. 'Wouldn't th' master find this interesting, if I was say... t' leave it in his library.'

He looked at the letter she held in her hands, for he had memorised the look of it off by heart. It was one of Mary's. He felt sick at the knowledge that she knew what it contained.

'How could tha' think of doing such a thing?' Dickon whispered, moving forward. His only hope now was to snatch the letter out of his hands, but she was too quick.

'If you make one move towards this here letter, Dickon Sowerby, I'll yell so loud that even Ben Weatherstaff will be able to hear. An' when he comes runnin' I'll tell him how tha' forced me t' come here, and that tha -' she smiled 'Well, I'm sure you get my meaning.' She placed the letter carefully back in the front of her dress. 'Now, be a good lad an' start tha' letter, eh?'

'Tha' has no way of knowin', he continued, 'If I post it or not.'

She laughed. 'Oh Dickon! Tha' can be so naïve! I'll know it's posted as I'll post it myself, after tha' finishes writin' it.' She smiled – a smile which would have usually been lovely, but which Dickon could now see was driven only by malice.

'Tha would do that – destroy her happiness.'

She nodded. 'But Dickon, tha' must understand. I'm not destroyin' her happiness, I'm savin' it! Can't tha' see, thee and Mistress Mary can never be together – at least not for long. Tha is a mere moor boy – she is th' niece of Lord Craven. The two of you would be th' ridicule of the town! Tha' needs t' be wi' someone of tha' own folk – an so does she.'

A desperate fear welled up inside Dickon, thoughts that had long remained dormant, rising to the surface. He closed his eyes briefly, struggling to remain calm.

'Tha has three days t' do it. An perhaps once it is over an' done with, tha' will finally come t' th' senses, an' realise I'm the one tha' should be with.'

'That will never happen.' Dickon replied softly, through clenched teeth, feeling anger well up inside him, threatening to overflow.

She laughed quietly. 'Don't be too sure about that, Dickon. If there's one thing I've learnt in this world, it's not t' be too sure of anything.' She gave him one last meaningful stare, as if reminding him once again to keep to his word, then left, clicking the door silently behind her, leaving Dickon alone with his thoughts.

* * *

The next three days were torturous to Dickon. He just couldn't bring himself to commit the words to paper. At work, things were barely any better. He grew absent-minded, half-heartedly completing his duties, and no longer socialising in the servant's kitchen – preferring to eat in silence and then withdraw to his room to be alone. More than anything, he couldn't bear to see Susie Birdwood laugh and smile, and wink at him, as though they shared some tremendous secret. Dickon was coming to realise more and more that he was under her power, and that there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all.

He spent many hours re-reading all the letters that Mary had sent him – and through them hearing her voice. He remembered all the time they had spent together – as children, and then growing up together. Sharing in the joy that was the garden – and then later, the joy of being together. He recalled the soft feel of her skin, as he brushed his fingers lightly down her face. He remembered kissing her, her mouth firm and tasting of honey. He thought about all the times they had laughed together, and planned their future. How upset she had been on that final night before she left for London and how he had woke up early that morning, saddled his horse, and ridden out to the moors in order to watch her leave – that one last time. How bitter sweet that memory seemed now... for if he was to send the letter as Susie commanded he do, she really would be lost to him.

He shook his head wearily, wondering if he really was doing the right thing. Perhaps Susie was right. He _was _a mere moor boy, she was the niece of Lord Craven. They were at complete opposite ends of the social spectrum. How could he ever provide her with the life that she required, that she deserved? And then what of the ridicle that she would be subjected to, by everyone they knew. But I love her, Dickon thought, I love her so much.

_There must be a way..._... he thought to himself. _If I was to send the letter, then perhaps I could_ _explain it all to her when she returns? Surely she will understand?_

He finsihed the letter that night, and had folded it up, unable to bear the thought of re-reading it, of seeing the words _'I cannot be with you anymore. We must end this.'_ An unbearable sadness began to well up in him. Could he really do it? Could he really send that letter to her? Could he be the cause of so much pain? And what if Susie was right – what if she really would be better off without him?

* * *

Sleep did not come easy to Dickon that night.

He was walking down the long, shadowy path that lead to the Secret Garden. The balmy night air clung to him, heavy with the scent of mown grass, peaty soil, and jasmine. He could her the crickets, chirping quietly. The sounds of the night, of a world that was still and resting. He stepped lightly, feeling like an intruder, but there was determination in his step. He had to find her.

The moon was full and it helped him find his way through the darkness, yet he had walked these paths so many times before and knew every turn and every part as though off by heart. Let me find her, he prayed, oh please. I can't bear the thought of losing her.

A small, pale figure sat on the sundial in the middle of the garden, illuminated in the moonlight. Her head was bent, and she was tracing one finger slowly over the old symbols. Her hair shrouded her face, falling in waves down over her shoulders. His heart gave a start and he surged forward.

'Mary!' he cried.

She looked up, and he saw a sad smile form on her face. Her eyes were dark and expressionless. She appeared small, vulnerable. He drew to a halt.

'You came. I've been waiting for you for so long.'

'I don't know what you mean. I've been looking for you!'

'I'm afraid it's too late for us, Dickon.'

He shook his head, and came forward so that he was kneeling at her feet, and took her hands in his 'No, I'm here now. We're together.'

She shook her head slowly, and it was then that he noticed the small band of gold that encircled her ring finger, and suddenly he understood. 'Oh Dickon!' she cried. 'It's too late.'

She let go of his hands, and reached down to a red rose that lay on top of the sundial. 'This is for you. To remember me by. Don't forget me, Dickon.'

He took the rose in his hands, barely noticing that they were shaking. Then, without thinking, drew her into his arms and kissed her passionately. He felt her respond to him, her mouth sweet and firm.

She lay backwards, her hair spilling down over the edge of the sundial. She turned towards him one last time, her smile full of sorrow and sadness. 'I'm so happy you found me. If only you'd come sooner.'

* * *

He awoke with a start, and flung his hands out of the bed covers, feeling the reassuring warmth of the wool blanket beneath his fingers. He was breathing hard. 'Calm down man,' he said to himself 'T'was only a dream.' His forehead was drenched in sweat, and he was shaking.

Even though Dickon knew that it was only a dream, he couldn't shake the feeling of losing her. He spent the day on edge, seeing darkness in every shadow, feeling as though all the light and happiness he had felt was being slowly sucked out of him. That night, he sat alone in his room, staring at the feeble glow of the candle that sat beside his bed. Presently, he heard a low knock at his window.

He sighed, feeling the overwhelming powers of fate take hold, as if he were trapped in some pivotal moment where his actions now, would determine what became of the rest of his life. But what choice did he have? He took the letter, from under his pillow, and opened his window.

'Verra good, Dickon.' Susie said, her eyes lighting up as she took the letter from his outstretched hand. 'I see tha' finally came t' th' senses.'

He didn't speak, couldn't speak, withdrew his hand and closed the window. Finally allowing himself to give in to the despair that overwhelmed him. He burrowed into his narrow bed and cried, his body racked with sobs, with one thought playing over and over in his mind.

_She's gone from me forever, and it's all my fault._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and suggestions - I really appreciate them! You guys are the best! xx Elyzia  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**Yes, most (not all, yipee!) of the characters belong to Frances Hodgson Burnett. I'm merely borrowing them for a while...**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

**June, 1908 – London**

_'I cannot continue this. We must part.'_

Mary's eyes scanned through the rest of the letter, not wanting to believe the words it contained, not even noticing when her vision became blurry with tears.

_'I hope we can still be friends. Until we meet again, I must cease this correspondence.'_

* * *

Colin watched his cousin enter through the doorway, immediately noticing her blotched cheeks, and red eyes. He shook his head sadly. Obviously, she was taking the move away from Misselthwaite harder than he had previously realised. He felt torn between wanting to go up and comfort her, and feeling conscious of the impropriety of his gesture. He decided to play it safe, but did not take his eyes off her, watching her from a distance, noting the heaviness of her movements and the downcast expression of her eyes. Something isn't right, he thought. I must speak with Father and organise a trip to Misselthwaite, soon.

Conversation buzzed around her, as it always did in the Sutherland household, yet Mary refrained from speaking. Her replies to any questions directed her way were short and concise. She found she had no appetite for her food, and only managed half of her plate before feeling ill. She felt overwhelmed by her thoughts, betrayed by someone whose love she thought she could count upon. It was as though the world felt as though it had tilted on it's axis. People around her still smiled and laughed, but it was not the same. Something was inherently missing, she was seeing the world through a new pair of eyes – and she did not like what she saw.

Without thinking, she drowned the large glass of wine in front of her in one gulp, ignoring the disapproving look that Mrs Sutherland gave her, and immediately took the decanter and poured another – enjoying the soothing effects that the alcohol provided, and the way it seemed to blunt the pain.

'Is everything all right, Mary?' The young woman sitting beside her leant in to whisper. Her drinking had not gone unnoticed. Mary nodded mutely.

'I'm fine.'

'You don't seem 'fine',' her friend said, touching her arm in concern. Mary tried not to meet her eyes. 'Would you like to talk after dinner, in private?'

She thought for a few seconds before replying. 'Yes... I would like that.'

Her thoughts turned back to Dickon, as they had done for most of the evening. Dickon had abandoned her, for some inexplicable reason he had decided that they could not continue. The more she thought about it, the more bizarre his actions seemed. She could not understand how someone could turn around and hurt her in such a painful way. There had to be some explanation...What would cause Dickon to do such a thing? An image came to mind, something that had been bothering her slightly, someone she had always felt distrustful about. She didn't notice Colin's concerned look from across the table, as he watched her take another long drink from her wine glass.

Dinner was drawing to an end and the servants were beginning to remove the cutlery and utensils from the table. Mary went to stand up, and felt her head spinning.

'May I please be excused?' she asked Dr Sutherland.

'Yes, yes.' he said, dismissively waving his hand, before returning his attention to Colin. Her cousin watched her as she stood up, and paused before moving towards the door.

The room was spinning slightly as she made her way down the dimly lit hall and she made a concentrated effort to walk straight. A knock at the front door, and the rush of the nearby servant to answer it caught her attention, and she found herself rooted to the spot, half hidden in the shadows, curious in spite of herself.

'Oh hello', the voice of a man echoed down the hallway. 'I'm wondering if you could help me. Is this the residence of Dr Sutherland?'

'It is, Sir.' the servant's voice answered.

'You see, he's expecting me... My name is Mr William Montgomery, and I'm a friend of his. Could I please come in?'

William Montgomery... the name sounded familiar. Then it struck her. It was the name of the young man that Colin had mentioned – the young man whose parent's had been killed in India?

She heard footsteps come up the stairs, and the creak of the door as it was pulled shut. Feeling a little silly, she suddenly realised that there was nowhere she could go to avoid meeting the guest in the hallway. She pulled herself out from behind the pillar in the hallway, and almost bumped into the servant, startling her.

'Oh excuse me, Miss Lennox. I didn't realise you were there.'

She turned around and laid her eyes on William Montgomery for the first time. The lighting in the hall was dim, but she could see that he was a rather tall young man, with light hair. He looked at her with curiosity, before speaking.

'I didn't realise these old houses still had ghosts... ah! but of course, you must be one of Dr Sutherland's daughters!' He stepped closer towards her. 'Please tell me – are you Patricia, or Samantha.'

'You're mistaken as I am neither.' She paused, noticing his confusion. 'I do not belong to Dr Sutherland. My name is Mary Lennox and I am merely a friend of the family, staying here until I finish my _education_.'

The situation she was presented with - standing in a darkened hallway and talking to someone who was such a complete stranger to her - would usually have made her feel uncomfortable, however, the wine had fortified her nerves, and she stuck out her hand towards him, which he took with an expression of puzzlement and humour, his grip firm.

'Ah I see! And I suppose it would only be proper decorum for me to introduce myself. My name is William Montgomery, and my Father was very good friends with Dr Sutherland. Very nice to meet you,_ Miss _Lennox.'

He was cocking his head to one side and staring at her in interest, which made her feel slightly ill at ease, although she was not entirely sure why. She took a step backwards, towards the shadows.

'If you wish to see Dr Sutherland, he is still in the dining room – through there.' she pointed down the hallway.

He seemed to come to his senses, as though he had remembered the purpose of his visit. 'Oh yes, thank-you ... ' he replied, giving Mary a grateful look.

She felt the unease begin to build inside her again, and was grateful when her thoughts were interrupted by the servant, who stood next to them.

'I'll take Mr Montgomery to see him.' The servant said.

'Goodnight then, Miss Lennox.' William said, smiling at her. 'It was a pleasure to meet you – although perhaps next time it will be somewhere a little less...' he cocked his head, searching for the right word.

'Mysterious?' Mary finished for him, not understanding why she had chosen that word to use.

'Precisely!' he grinned. 'I look forward to it. Goodnight.'

'Goodnight.' she whispered, and watched them leave.

They made their way down the hallway, and Mary crept quietly up to her bedroom, and flopped down on her bed, willing the room to stop spinning. Reaching beneath her bed, she pulled out the plain shoe-box that contained Dickon's letters. One by one she pulled them out, her eyes skimming over the contents. All the letters covered a similar theme and said similar things – all except one.

'Oh Dickon, why did you have to say those things?' she whispered, trembling, as she took the ill-fated letter in her hands. The thought of returning to Dickon had been the only thing that had kept her going – That she would return to Misselthwaite and things would once again be the way they were. Now, for some reason she couldn't begin to understand, Dickon had said that everything they had shared between them, was over. She wished she had some insight as to _why._

She looked over and noticed the bright glow of the candle that stood beside her bed. She watched the flame for a few seconds, holding her breath, becoming hypnotised by the way it glowed and flickered. An idea came to mind, and the more she thought about it, the harder it was to dismiss. She sat up, taking the candle to her window sill, along with Dickon's letter.

She took Dickon's letter, and held it over the flame until it caught – then watched as the flames greedily devoured the parchment. She watched with a mixture of sorrow and building relief as Dickon's scrawly handwriting disappeared under the flame, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. The flames taking away any evidence that such a letter ever existed. The letter slowly disappeared, taking all traces of the words and how they made her feel, with it. All that was left was ash, and she watched as it dissipated into the wind, the smoke stinging her eyes with tears. 'Goodbye, Dickon.' she whispered gently, closing her eyes and imagining his warm eyes and how they crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

She was still feeling the effects of the alcohol she had ingested, and her thoughts turned towards her journal. She took it out from it's hiding place, bringing it to her seat by the window. She jotted the date, and then slowly wrote the words that made everything real.

_Dickon no longer loves me, I can't bear it._

_I never knew what love was when I was growing up in India. I don't believe my parents loved me – they merely saw me as a burden – something to be passed off to someone else so they could go out and enjoy themselves. I discovered love at Misselthwaite – first in the garden, then with Dickon, Colin, and Uncle Archie. I thought I knew what love was then, but it was not until I was older I discovered that love could go so much deeper – that it could make you physically hurt inside... I discovered that love for someone could cause me to feel so deeply and powerfully that nothing else mattered except being with that person. But what do you do when that person you so care about decides they no longer care about you? How do you go on without them?_

_Dickon sent me a letter that made me feel as though my heart was being torn in two. He wrote that we cannot continue, that what we had is no more. I don't understand why he would do something like this to me – to us, after all this time. It just doesn't make sense. I trusted him. I thought we were going to spend our whole lives together, and now I realise I was mistaken. Something inside me feels as though it has died. I am still alive, but inside my spirit is slowly fading. My heart is dying, and my body just doesn't know it yet._

She put down her pen, walked to her bed and collapsed upon it, closing her eyes to the world and willing oblivion to come.

* * *

In the dream, she was waiting in the garden, for Dickon to come to her.

The sun had set, and twilight was descending. The air was hot and muggy, bringing back memories of another time and place when she had listened to the soft voices of the native servants murmuring to themselves. She watched, as the last feeble rays of sun stretched across the stone of the sundial she sat upon, and she traced her finger over the carvings that were etched there, that stated _'The_ _desert shall bloom and flower as the rose.'_ Looking down, she noticed the blood red rose that lay beside her on the top of the sundial. She reached towards it, and frowned as she noticed the small band of gold that adorned her ring finger.

She lifted a hand to her face. She felt older, wearier, as though much time had passed. How long had she been in London? She could not remember.

Nor did she know how long she had been waiting, yet she knew that Dickon would come to her. She had waited this long, she had thought that she could wait as long as it took, yet an unbearable sadness filled her. It had been too late, she had waited too long. It was too late to say anything except goodbye.

Golden memories of her childhood filled her. Innocent and carefree days spent basking in the sun in the garden, hiding amongst the flowers, laughing and talking.

Lost in her memories, she didn't notice the tall figure walking towards her until he was halfway across the lawn. Her heart caught in her throat, her emotions spilling over. It was Dickon! He had found her! He had come for her at last. Despair washed over her. It was too late for them!

'Mary!' she heard him call out.

'You came.' she heard herself reply. 'I've been waiting for you for so long.'

He appeared puzzled, and he slowed his pace. 'I don't know what you mean. I've been looking for you.'

Unbearable sadness. 'I'm afraid it's too late for us Dickon.'

She couldn't move, but he could, and he came towards her and knelt at her feet, taking her hands in his. She breathed deeply, her body responding to the warmth and familiarity, the creases, the callouses that were so uniquely Dickon. It was so unfair, that something so precious be taken from her. He held her hands firmly, and then frowned, turning her hand over and seeing the band of gold that meant she was no longer his. Realisation dawned upon his face as he finally understood.

She withdrew her hands, not wanting to look at the devastated look that lay upon his face, contorting his features. She reached down and picked up the rose, wondering if it was one they had planted together, in a long ago time. 'This is for you, to remember me by. Remember what we had. Don't forget me, Dickon.'

His hands were shaking as she passed him the rose, then suddenly, they were wrapped around her waist, and at last his lips found hers as he kissed her with an aching passion. She responded without thinking, as she expressed her love and sorrow to him in the only way she knew how. He withdrew and she leaned back on the sundial, her strength drained. Movement from the darkened corner of the garden caught her eye, and she suddenly noticed the tall figure standing there, in the shadows. Had he been there the entire time?

She turned towards him one last time, feeling a cool wind upon her face and then the splatter of raindrops. 'I'm so happy you found me, Dickon. If only you'd come sooner.'

* * *

She awoke some time later to the sound of a soft knocking on her door, coupled with the crash of thunder outside, and the sound of rain upon the roof.

It took a moment for her to realise where she was. Hadn't she just been in the garden with Dickon? A sense of disquiet grew within her. She wondered if she was in her bedroom at Misselthwaite – perhaps she had fallen asleep on the sundial and someone had carried her back to bed? Then she opened her eyes and saw the flickering candle on her window sill and she knew. She was still in London. It had all been a dream. The knocking grew louder, and a dim part of her memory recalled that she had invited Sam up to her room.

'Come in.' she called out blearily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

'Goodness, Mary, it is dim up here.' Samantha said, as soon as she entered the room. 'That candle is almost burnt right out and the window is wide open...'

Mary looked over to the window sill, to where her friend was pointing to the candle she had placed there. Looking at it made her feel uncomfortable. She had used it to burn Dickon's letter, and she couldn't explain why, but talking about what had happened was not something she felt comfortable doing. She hadn't told Samantha anything about Dickon, and very little of her life at Misselthwaite.

'I must have fallen asleep.' she replied, getting up and striding over to the window, closing it and moving the candle to her chest of drawers.

'You really are hopeless.' The dark haired girl grinned, taking the flame and pressing it to the wick of the kerosene lamp that sat beside the bed. 'Misselthwaite really must have been prehistoric if they still used candles. You just can't get used to these lamps, can you?'

Mary shrugged. 'Maybe I just don't like change.'

'You are a contrary girl, Mary Lennox – but I do like you. Now tell me – what did you think of Father's new guest? I didn't just come up here just to berate you for your lack of common-sense.'

Sam's eyes sparkled with excitement. Visitors were very exciting news, indeed, in Samantha Sutherland's world – especially male visitors. She tried to make an effort, in order to both please her friend and make her feelings less apparent.

'Well, I did speak to him briefly in the hallway...' she began.

'Yes, go on.'

'He seemed ... nice enough, I suppose.'

'Nice? That is the word you choose to use? Out of all the possible descriptions for someone?'

Mary inwardly rolled her eyes. It was evident her friend was rather taken with the young man.

'So how would you describe him then?' she asked patiently.

'Hmmm... ' Sam said, turning her eyes up as though searching for inspiration. 'Well, I would probably say "well-travelled", "interesting", and "handsome", she finished, blushing.

'You sound rather infatuated with him, Sam.' she said, enjoying the way the blush deepened on her friend's cheeks.

'I do not! What gave you that idea?'

'Just some of the things you said, that's all. I know how to tell when someone enjoys someone else's company.'

'Hmph. And how would you know that?' Sam replied, raising her eyebrow and then adding slyly. 'Unless of course it's from... personal experience?'

Horrified, Mary felt a blush begin to rise on her own cheeks.

'Ah ha!' Sam exclaimed. 'So I was right. That blush is a dead give away. I think you have something to tell me, Mary Lennox. I think there must have been someone in your past.'

At the mention of what had been, Mary felt the pang of the hollow space that Dickon had previously occupied in her heart. She struggled to remain in control, to appear neutral and distant.

'I ... ah ... ' she began, and was then shocked to discover her mood had changed to that of pure melancholy. She blinked rapidally to avoid crying, and turned her head away so Sam couldn't see her face.

'Mary?' Sam questioned, after she failed to reply. 'What is it?'

She felt her friend touch her arm in concern, and then a hand on her face, slowly pulling her around. She couldn't control herself any longer, and she felt the hot tears begin to trickle down her cheeks.

'Oh Mary! You're crying.' Sam said in shock. 'What is the matter?'

'There ... there was someone, Sam. There was. Not any more,' she wiped her eyes. 'It ... it pains me to talk about him... to think about him.'

'I'm sorry.' Sam replied softly, and Mary felt her friend put an arm around her shoulders. It was a comforting gesture, and Mary leaned into her friend, as the tears continued to fall. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

She shook her head. 'There's nothing to talk about. It's over. It just... it just still hurts, that's all.' She put her fist to her heart. 'A deep pain, like no other. I can feel it right here.'

'I had no idea.' Sam whispered in awe. 'All this time... ' she shook her head in amazement. 'What you must have been through. Mary, I'll be here for you – if you ever want to talk about it – please know that you can come to me.'

Mary nodded mutely, not wanting Sam to let go.

'Perhaps in the meantime I can distract you with tales of our visitor. It's a pity you left so early at dinner. You missed out on meeting him properly and hearing some of his stories. He's like you, Mary, an orphan from India.'

'Tell me about him.' she whispered, wishing to hear her friend's voice drown out the thoughts that were consuming her.

'Very well then. His name is William Montgomery, and his Father was Captain Montgomery – who served for many years in India. Captain Montgomery was a friend of my Father from many years ago, which is why he has come to visit. He will be staying with us for the remainder of the season. You'd like him, Mary. He's very intelligent, and humorous – and he is simply a wonderful storyteller. You wouldn't believe some of the stories he was telling us of India – of the people that live there, of hunting tigers and the parties – the incredible parties with Elephants and the dancers. It all sounds so wonderful.'

A vivid memory surfaced briefly in Mary's mind – of people dressed in lavish costumes, of her parent's laughing... and then the devastation that followed. With some effort, she turned her thoughts towards the present. 'Why has he come here?' she asked.

'He has lived here in London for some years... I believe he left India shortly after the earthquake which killed his parents. He mentioned that he had been staying with an old uncle until now, and that the uncle has recently passed away. I don't know if he has anyone else.'

Despite herself, Mary felt her curiosity deepen. She had never met anyone like herself, someone with the same background. Maybe she would converse with this young man. There was nothing stopping her. Perhaps he would be able to give her some insight into her own past – a past they both shared.

'I'm sure he would love to speak with you again, Mary. Maybe tomorrow morning we will be able to introduce the two of you properly.'

'Yes...,' she replied slowly, thinking things over. 'Yes...I believe I would like that.'

* * *

**A/N - A huge thank-you to all of those who reviewed. Some very helpful constructive criticism!**

**I am in the process of planning this story out - I think I've got an idea of where it's going to go, and I'm excited about it! remember, your feedback helps me to notice things that I may not pick up on, and will ultimately make it a better story. I love hearing from my readers, xx**


	14. Chapter 14

**My apologies for the length of time it has taken to get this chapter posted - I've spent the last couple of weeks ill with the Flu! not very conductive to writing, unfortunately. But I've finally managed to get this chapter finished. It is set, once again, in London and at Misselthwiate, in the summer of 1908. In this chapter, Mary learns some more about William Montgomery's past and how it is similar to her own past... and Dickon receives some disturbing news that will have a major effect on his life... and will change it in ways he cannot imagine.  
**

**Many thanks to those of you that left a comment from the previous chapter! you guys rock my world!  
**

* * *

**Beyond the Secret Garden – Chapter 14**

**Misselthwaite Manor, July 1908**

The tall young man cut a solitary figure against the backdrop of summer in the gardens. He was surrounded by the bountiful beauty of summer – yet he wandered alone – as he now spent the majority of his days. He paused briefly by the door to the secret garden, but did not enter. He couldn't bring himself to go in there, not after what had happened.

'Dickon!, Dickon Sowerby!'

He looked up, at the call of his name, and caught a glimpse of Sarah Clare running down the long walk, towards him. He walked towards her, waiting as she caught her breath. He wondered why she had come all this way to find him? Most people kept out of his way these days, left him alone with his thoughts. It was then he looked down and saw the small letter she held in her hands. Hope flared in Dickon's heart.

'This just came for you,' she panted, leaning back and trying to catch her breath. 'They say it's urgent. I've been lookin' for thee everywhere!'

He mumbled his gratitude, then took the letter with trembling hands. Could it be? Was it from ….. her?

Ignoring Sarah Clare's puzzled look, he headed off towards the moor, looking for a quiet place where he could read the letter in peace.

* * *

**London, July 1908**

'So we will be going to Regents Park? Today?'

Samantha turned around, and laughed at her friend's confused expression. The two young women were in Mary's room, Mary was seated on her bed watching Samantha, as she sat at the dressing table, and brushed her hair.

'Well, it is Summer, after all, Mary. And we've hardly had an opportunity to get out of the house so far. You'll love Regents Park – the gardens there are so beautiful this time of year.'

Mary closed her eyes briefly, thinking of another set of gardens which were beyond beautiful in summer – gardens which were so far away now.

'We'll all be going,' Sam continued. 'You and I, Colin, Mother and Father and Patricia….. and …… William.'

'We're all going?' Mary asked. She had never participated in a family outing with the Sutherland's before. And Sam had mentioned that William would be attending, too. Although why shouldn't he? She told herself. He was a guest, the same as she.

'Why yes!' Sam laughed. 'Mother thought it would be nice to have a picnic lunch. And for once, I have to agree with her. It's a beautiful day for it. Look, Mary.' Sam walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains letting the early morning sunlight spill into the room. 'Barely a cloud in the sky!'

Mary glanced out of the window, towards the direction Sam was pointing in. Her friend was right – it was going to be a beautiful day. Yet she just couldn't shake the feeling of depression and hopelessness that she had been feeling ever since she received the final letter from Dickon. That letter had sent everything she knew crushing down on her. She didn't know if she would ever be able to feel as she had done before, again. She looked closely at her friend and saw the enthusiastic, expectant look that dwelled on her face. In Sam's world there was everything to be happy about – a bright sunny day, the opportunity to socialise with other young people. She had to at least try to make an effort – for her friend's sake. She sighed deeply and made her way over to the dressing table.

'I suppose it would be good for me to get out. When are we leaving?'

'As soon as we're all ready. Now that is why I'm here. Mary – you need to get out of those awful black dresses – let's be honest. It's not as though someone has died, is it? Come on, there must be something in here you can wear.'

Mary looked down and observed the dress she had chosen to wear that morning. Sam was right – it was black, and she had been wearing dark colours ever since she had arrived in London. It hadn't seemed right to be dressed so brightly, when she was so deeply unhappy. She watched as Sam flung open her wardrobe door and began rifling through her gowns.

'No, this won't do, too dark,' the young woman muttered to no one in particular. 'and this one, urgh! But this!' Sam held up a floaty gown of a light blue fabric. 'This is perfect!'

* * *

Mary was seated next to Sam in the carriage, and opposite her sat the young Mr William Montgomery, and her cousin Colin. Dr Sutherland, his wife, and older daughter had taken another carriage, leaving the young people to socialise amongst themselves. She found from the position she was sitting in, she was able to observe the young man as he chatted amicably to her cousin.

He was very different in the light of day to how she remembered him the previous night when she had been standing in the shadows. His hair was short, and blonder than she remembered, and his features were even and symmetrical – his eyebrows slightly darker than his hair. He had faint creases on the sides of his eyes, which crinkled when he smiled – and he did this often. His lips were full, and his teeth even and straight. She watched him closely as he conversed with Colin, watching his expressions and the way he interacted with the younger man. Colin seemed to be enjoying his company, and Mary supposed it was nice for her cousin to be around a young man of his own age.

'You'll have to tell us some of your stories of your time in India.' she heard Colin say, and her ears pricked up with interest. 'And I'm sure my cousin would enjoy some of your tales,' he looked over at her 'wouldn't you, Mary?'

'Perhaps Miss Lennox would be able to tell us some tales of her own?' William added, catching her eye. His eyes were deep blue, Mary noticed then – and they sparkled with delight. 'God knows, I get so bored telling the same old stories all the time. It would be nice to hear some new ones.'

'I don't remember much about India.' Mary began, uncomfortable with the attention that had suddenly been directed at her. 'I was so young, and I wasn't allowed to go to any of the parties that my parent's attended. All I can remember is the heat, and always feeling sickly.'

'Surely that's not all you remember?' William said softly, once more holding her gaze and giving her a small smile. 'Perhaps I can help you recall some of your forgotten memories?'

Mary shifted uncomfortably. She did have many more memories of India, of course, but she did not have any fabulous tales to tell. If anything, she wished she could forget. She caught William observing her with interest. 'Perhaps.' she said curtly. 'But I doubt it.'

'Ah! Some other time, then.' the young man replied, and turned back to Colin, who looked rather disappointed.

'Why don't you tell William a little about your curious upbringing, cousin?' she said, wishing to deflect some of the attention away from herself. 'You probably had one of the queerest childhoods in the history of Britain.'

'Oh really, do tell, Colin!' announced Samantha. 'I've heard so very little about your childhood.'

Colin sighed dramatically, but Mary could tell he was pleased nonetheless. 'Well, if you must. But I fear it is a rather long tale.'

'You humoured me last night, Colin. I will happily listen to you now.'

'Oh yes please, Colin. Do tell us! Besides, it will be at least an hour until we reach the park, with the traffic being the way it is.'

'Very well.' the young man begun. 'Our tale begins six years ago – with a sickly boy and an orphaned girl from India...'

Colin began to speak, to what had become a captivated audience. Mary had no idea that he had leant to tell a story so well, and found herself oddly moved at the tale of the boy who had once again learned to walk. Every now and again, she would meet William's gaze, and she didn't know why, but something in his smile made her feel a little uneasy.

* * *

Mary had left the group picnicing on the main grounds of Regent's Park, requiring some time alone. The laughter of the others died away behind her, and she found herself walking as though being blown along by the sweet summer breeze. As she walked she passed by many fountains, and flower beds – amazed at the colour and order of things. Yet her heart yearned for the secret garden. For the wilderness and natural beauty of the moors. She took a seat by a large fountain, watching as the water spilled from the top in a sparkling cascade, and she remembered.

Sparkling water, that flowed and swirled, and lay hidden in the middle of a peaceful forest – and of the two young people that had just begun to discover each other...

_She was sitting down on the bank of the river, swishing her bare legs through the cool water. Dickon was at her side, and he was watching her thoughtfully._

_'I cannot bear this heat, Dickon. I don't know how you manage to work in it.'_

_'Neither do I, sometimes.' the young man replied, as he sat down next to her and dipped his legs in the water, sighing with satisfaction. _

_'You won't think it terribly bold of me if I went for a swim, would you Dickon?'_

_'I don't think Mrs Medlock would approve.' the young man had responded with a laugh. She remembered how much that laugh had made her smile, and she recalled how she had imagined the look of horror on the housekeeper's face to find her young charge in such an improper situation. _

_She had taken off her dress then, and Dickon had helped her into the water. She recalled the feel of his hand – hard and calloused through working every day that summer. She had gasped at the cool feel of the water against her bare skin, and had then asked Dickon to join her. _

_She had watched him as he undressed – taking off his shirt – sticky with sweat, and had tried to avert her eyes at the sight of his bare chest. He had rolled up his trousers before joining her, edging slowly into the water, grimacing as he submerged himself. _

_Before she knew it, she had dived under the water, and had began to swim towards Dickon. In a playful moment she grabbed his ankle and pulled him under – coming up to see him coughing and spluttering – yet laughing all the same. _

_'Oh Dickon! You should see yourself! You look like a drowned rat! I wish I could have seen your face when you went under!'_

_'O' verra funny,' he had replied, 'But I'll get thee back – when tha' least expects it!'_

_He had splashed her with water then, and she screeched before splashing him back. She swam away quickly, but he was faster than her, and he caught her petticoat, pulling her towards him. His hands found her waist, and he pulled her closer to him. She remembered how the moment had stood still, how it was just them for a few seconds, alone in the river, trying to catch their breath, yet not being able to take their eyes off one another. Dickon's hair was wet, it was plastered against his forehead, and she had had an overwhelming urge to brush it aside, and then run her fingers down his face..._

Although that had only been the previous summer, it seemed so far away now. Mary sat by the edge of a fountain, running her fingers through the water, listening to the sounds around her – the happy laughter of children, the chirping of the birds. So far away from the solemn quiet of the forest, and the sound of the river as it lapped lazily against the grassy banks.

'Ah, there you are.' said a voice, jolting her out of her thoughts. Misselthwiate and the river dissappeared as she looked up to see the curious face of William Montgomery. 'May I sit next to you?' he gestured to where she sat on the fountains edge.

'If you wish.' she replied, still struggling to remove herself from the memories, indifferent to whether he sat next to her or not.

'So,' he began slowly, 'I take it you enjoy your solitude.'

'Whatever makes you say that?'

'Two observations I have made. Last night, you left dinner early – much earlier than anyone else. And today, while everyone else socialises, you prefer to be alone – to wander the gardens by yourself.'

His voice was not accusatory, merely curious.

'I find you an intriguing young woman, Mary Lennox.'

She didn't know how to respond to such a bold statement of her character.

'You barely know me!' she stated, finding the words coming out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.

'Perhaps...' he said, idly dipping his fingers into the water. 'But I'd like to get to know you. Why won't you talk about your past?'

She moved away slightly, so there was some distance between them. 'I don't enjoy talking about the past – especially India.'

'What I'm interested to know is why.' he murmured, catching her eye. She met his gaze, and saw curiousity... and was it... empathy?

'Anyway,' he continued, 'Since you will not discuss your past, perhaps you would like to know a little bit more about me?'

She shrugged, indifferently, yet she could not help but feel a little curious. 'Very well then.So were you born in India?'

He nodded, his eyes glazing over with a far-away look. 'I was born in Bangalore – in South India – do you know where that is?'

Mary nodded. She too had been born in Bangalore, although she didn't mention it to William.

'You see, Father had been posted to India – to Bangalore – many years before. He served in the British Army, first as a Captain, then later rose to the rank of Leuitenant Colonel – a very important position, as I'm sure you understand. I was born in India, around three years after my Father was posted there. He was an extremely busy man – he never had time for my mother, or for me.'

William's voice grew bitter, and he paused briefly before continuing.

'Anyway, so there I was, growing up among the other children of the captains, and officers, attended constantly by ayahs and servants. We used to play down by a river that ran near our house – the days were hot then, and we used to mix with the local children. What fun times they were!'

'When did you come to London?' Mary could not help asking, she was beginning to realise how this young man's childhood held many parallels to her own.

William sighed. 'This is the part I dread talking about. Do you remember, Mary, the earthquake that struck the region, over six years ago now?'

'I... I remember.' she said in a small voice, once again recalling the way the earth had shook, and the screams of the people around her. 'I ... I was there when it happened.'

'Oh Mary... I had no idea... I'm sorry.'

'Please, carry on with your story. Maybe one day I'll tell you mine.'

'I would like that.' William replied earnestly. 'So you'll understand perfectly what it is like to live through such an event – and the horror that occurs after it. We were playing down by the river at the time – My Father was away on an important mission, and my Mother was entertaining friends at our villa. I was only fourteen when it happened... I remember it was early evening – not quite dark but the sun was near setting, and I was playing with some of the local lads down by the river. We had been making little boats out of paper, and sailing them down the stream – racing them, I believe. We first noticed the shaking on the water, sending little ripples out from the edges of the bank. I remember staring in horror at my boat as it toppled over, and funnily enough, my first thought was not of my own safety, but that I was now going to lose the boat race! But then the shaking increased, and the ripples on the water became like waves... we edged away from the river, feeling the shaking under our feet, and that's when we started to hear people screaming, and the booming sound of buildings toppling over.'

Mary closed her eyes, remembering. 'It was so loud. I was so afraid.'

'So was I.' William said. 'But Mary, we're safe now. We escaped.'

'Not all of us.' she whispered.

'No, not all.'

'Did your parents...?' her voice trailed off, but she had to ask.

'My Father's regiment simply disappeared, and were never heard of again. I don't know how long they searched, but they never found them. My Mother...' he stopped, and Mary saw him wince as though in pain.

'Don't continue if you don't want to.'

'No, I need to complete my story. As I said, I was by the river when it happened. As soon as the earth stopped shaking, I ran home as fast as my legs could carry me. I couldn't recognise anything – everything had been destroyed. There was rubble everywhere, and many small fires, trees were uprooted and people were screaming – crying out for loved ones. I ran so fast that day – and on bare feet, until at last I reached our villa.'

Mary already knew how the story was going to end, yet she whispered 'go on.'

'It was utterly devestated. The earthquake had destroyed everything. Yet I had to find her, I couldn't believe that anything could have happened to my Mother. You see, she and I were so close – brought together by the distance provided by my Father. I went through what remained of our front door, and that's when I saw her.'

'She was... she was laying on the ground, and at first I thought that she was only sleeping. Isn't it funny what the mind will tell you when you really want to believe something? Of course, she wasn't sleeping, she was dead. She had been struck by one of the pillars from the outside of our villa. I believe she had been trying to get out when it happened...'

'Oh William,' Mary whispered, seeing the pain that dwelled in the young man's eyes. 'I am so sorry.' unconcsiouly, she reached out and took his hand.

'Don't worry about me, Mary. I'm fine. It happened a long time ago.' pain flickered briefly across his features, and she saw him look away. 'Of course, not a day goes past when I don't miss her.'

'I suppose all we can do is hold on to the people that we do have.' Mary replied. It had been true for her. How much she had loved Colin, and her Uncle. And how much she still loved Dickon, even if it appeared that he no longer loved her back.

'Yes, how true that is.' he sighed. 'Anyway, enough sad tales for one day. It is too beautiful a day to be moping, after all.' He got up from his seat on the fountain's edge, and held out his hand to Mary. 'Care to accompany me for a stroll through the gardens, Miss Lennox? In the spirit of making the most of the people who are still with us.'

His look was so earnest that Mary could not help but take the hand of the young man who offered it. Her opinions of the young Mr Montgomery had changed. He was no longer a stranger to her, but rather a kindred spirit of sorts. For the first time in weeks, she did not feel alone. A pang went through her though as she thought briefly of Dickon, and wondered what he would think of her spending time with another young man. Yet Dickon was not here, and he had stated in the final letter he had sent that what they had was over. Perhaps she needed to take her own advice and hold on to those around her – the people that she had in her life.

'Yes, I think I will.' she replied, and stepped up to meet him, before taking his arm.

* * *

**Misselthwaite Manor, July 1908**

Dickon found a quiet part of the gardens, and opened the letter nervously. He read quickly, then gave an anguished cry when he got to the end of the letter. It couldn't be….

_My dear brother,_

_I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but our own dear Father has taken ill. It happened yesterday while he was at work – he appears to have had a fit of some kind and fell from his horse. The doctor has been to see him and he has been confined to his bed. We need you at home, Dickon. I do not know how long Father will remain unwell, or if he will recover. Please come home as soon as you can, Mother and the family need your help. I write this without their knowledge, but I do know that you will do what is best for the family. Please come as soon as you can. _

_Your loving sister, Martha._


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! they really inspired me to get this next chapter finished, and posted. Of course, no longer being bedridden helped hugely!  
**

**In this chapter, we will see a little snippet of Dickon's life... and an old enemy comes back to haunt Dickon. **

**As always, please let me know what you think! your input is invaluable to me!**

* * *

**Beyond the Secret Garden, **

**Chapter 15**

**Thwaite village, Yorkshire, late November 1908**

**I**

The young man stood beside his cart, shivering in the cold wind that swept through the alleyway where he worked. He had recently celebrated his nineteenth birthday, and was tall, and well-built – the last few months of constant labour having developed his existing muscles. He paused for a moment, and leant back against the stone wall, willing his memories to take him away from the wind, and the cold.

If he closed his eyes, he could see her still, her smile radient with joy. He remembered how she had looked – her hair long and free, blowing around her face in the summer breeze. In his minds eye, she was standing before him, clad in her old gardening frock, with a smudge of dirt on her cheek. He recalled just how delicate and fragile her hands had appeared to him, and how small they felt in his own. Her voice could range from soft to sarcastic and contrary – he couldn't get over how much he missed hearing that voice.

'Look at you, Dickon Sowerby.' she would say to him, her expression disapproving, and her eyes moving up and down his body. 'You are simply covered in dirt. No wonder everyone considers you a creature of the moor!'

Dickon savoured the memory, allowing it to take him away – for a few brief seconds – from the bitter winter wind that swept through him, chilling him to the bone.

He shivered, pulling his homespun wool jacket tightly around him, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. The memories were fading once again, the harshness of real-life creeping back in.

Memories were all he had now. His time at Misselthwaite had abruptly come to an end five months before, when he had received word that his Father had been taken ill. Dickon had left Misselthwaite in order to help run his Father's carting business – and thus save his family from financial ruin. It had been a heartbreaking decision, but one in which he had little say in the matter. However, he knew that in leaving Misselthwaite, he was also leaving behind any possibility of ever seeing _her_ again.

Mary Lennox, his childhood companion, and the one person he held dearest to his own soul.

It had been five long months in which he had heard nothing from her. Where she was, how she was doing, if she was ever going to come back. Dickon had heard not a whisper.

**II**

He recognised her from some distance – her flame red hair a dead give-away in a village of grey stone. He stopped and stared for a few seconds, then proceeded loading up the cart, hoping that she wouldn't recognise him and would move on.

'Dickon? Dickon Sowerby, is tha' you?' he heard her call, as she walked towards him. 'I barely recognised thee.'

'Good mornin', Susie.' he said in a gruff voice, and not meeting her glance, hoping that she wouldn't stay. Ever since she had made him write that fateful letter, Dickon couldn't bear to be around her. Being around her made him feel physically ill. Dickon Sowerby had never had reason to hate anyone before, yet he detested Susie Birdwood with all his being.

'I haven't seen thee since tha' left Misselthwaite. An wha' a furore that caused. Lord Craven was verra upset – I suppose tha' was a particular favourite of his.'

Dickon shrugged uncomfortably, not wanting to appear affected by the news. 'No more than any other.'

Susie laughed. 'Oh I don't believe that for a second! Anyway, Dickon, you have been missed up at th' manor. It's just... oh, I don't know... not th' same without thee around.'

He tried to smile, wishing there was something he could say to make her go away and leave him alone. He hated seeing that grin on her face – the same smile she had given him after he had handed her that letter, so many months before. He raised his eyebrows, giving her a wry look instead.

'I doubt tha' Ben misses me verra much. But I'm sorry Susie, I don't have time t' talk. I have t' get this cart loaded up.'

'Oh I understand, Dickon,' she began in a tone that suggested that she had been holding something back. 'So I suppose tha' won't want t' hear the latest news from Misselthwaite... concernin' Miss Mary and Master Colin?'

'Wha' about them?' he replied, trying to keep his voice calm, but feeling his heart race inside him. More than anything, he desperately wanted to hear what Susie had to say. He had gone for months without a single scrap of news, and his desperation must have showed in his face, because Susie tipped her head back and laughed.

'Goodness, Dickon. Tha' emotions are so... wha's the word I'm lookin' for? Transparent? But that was always th' way wi' thee.'

Inwardly, he admitted defeat, realising that she had already won. 'Yes, I'm interested. Will tha' tell me?' he said through gritted teeth.

'Perhaps...' she said, wrapping her scarf around her little finger, in an obvious gesture of contemplation. 'If you give me somethin' in return.'

She gave him a sly look, then continued.

'For the exchange of information, I require payment, Dickon. I'll tell thee what tha' wants t' know, in exchange for... a kiss.'

'A wha'?' he spluttered, flabbergasted. He hadn't expected her to say _that._

'You give me a kiss, Dickon, and I tell thee what tha' wants t' know. It's simple, really.'

He shook his head, 'I won't do it.'

'Then I won't tell thee. Tha' will never know.' She shook her head and gave him a pitying look before turning and walking away. 'Goodbye then, Dickon Sowerby.'

Dickon could felt torn by his emotions. He so desperately wanted to know, yet what she proposed was preposterous and obscene. Every cell in Dickon's body told him that to give in to her would once again put him under her power, and he knew how destructive she could be. Doing a thing like this would only encourage her.

Yet, could he really let her walk away? If Mary was coming back to Misselthwaite, then he had to know.

'Wait!' Dickon called after her, feeling ill inside. 'All right, I'll do it.'

She stopped, and paused, before turning slowly, and coming towards him. 'I was hopin' tha' would come to thy senses.' she said softly, a flirtatious smile building on her lips. Dickon felt his revulsion grow, and decided to get the task over with as quickly as possible. Bending down, he kissed her quickly on her cheek – little more than a peck.

Susie narrowed her eyes and stared up at him, her tone cold. 'That's not what I'd call a kiss, Dickon. Now kiss me properly, or I won't tell thee anythin'. I don't want another peck on th' cheek. I'm not tha' Grandmother.' She pointed to her lips, 'tha' must kiss me... here... .like tha' would _Mistress Mary_.'

She stood, waiting expectantly, still looking at him with cold eyes. Dull acceptance crept over Dickon. There really was no other way she would impart the information to him... and he had no other means of payment that she would be interested in accepting.

With deep regret an disappointment in himself, and what he was about to do, Dickon leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth.

She responded immediately, deepening the kiss, and pulling him towards her when he tried to pull away. His body reacted in a way that surprised him. Although she repulsed her, she was the first girl he had kissed since Mary had left, and a part of him was reacting to the experience. He felt Susie push into him, running her hands up under his coat. At the feel of her hands on his body, he broke away from her, ashamed of himself.

'Now that's what I call a kiss,' Susie said dreamily, drawing in her breath before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. '– an tha' does kiss rather well. I can see why she fancied tha so.'

Dickon stepped back, wanting to get as much distance from her as possible. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He felt his heart begin to race at the information which she was soon to give to him. All he wanted to do was to hear what she had to say, then get away from her as quickly as he could. He tried his best to ignore the suggestive look in her eyes.

'Well Dickon, as tha' certainly upheld thy end of th' bargain, I'll tell that what I know. Now, where were we. Ah yes, tha' wanted t' know about darling Misstress Mary, an her spoilt cousin.'

'As you might already know, I am now th' main servant of Mrs Medlock herself. An' bein' in that role allows for... shall we say...certain privileges. Lets just say, everythin' she knows, I generally find out... sooner or later.'

'Anyway, I saw her writin' a letter just last week. "Who are tha' writin to, Mrs Medlock? - my that seems like such a long letter." I asked, all nice an' polite, for she prefers her staff th' way. She gives me that slightly sour look of hers, an' I wonder if perhaps I've gone too far wi' my curiosity, but then she answers me after a time "Since you will need to be aware, anyway," says she, "Mr Craven, and Miss Lennox will be returning to Misselthwaite in two weeks time. I am writing to Dr Sutherland in order to confirm their return." O' course, Dickon, tha' can imagine my surprise, as I really thought she would be gone for good. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking, eh?' She laughed lowly, but Dickon barely heard her. It felt as though time was standing still. He felt flustured, as though the weather had suddenly grown warm. He couldn't believe what he was hearing – Mary to return, in two weeks time? Perhaps he would even have a chance to see her somehow, to explain everything. Susie continued talking, once more giving him her most sorrowful – and least genuine, glance.

'I must say Dickon, tis a pity tha' left th' manor. Workin' out here will give thee little chance t' see tha' precious Mistress Mary.'

Dickon felt anger flare up inside him hearing her name said in such a sarcastic tone. He struggled to maintain control, clenching his fists inside his coat pockets. Susie stopped talking, giving Dickon a long hard look, as if deciding whether or not to say something important. Then a small grin formed on her lips, and she continued, drawing out the information, and watching Dickon, as though savouring his expression.

'An' did I mention they've a guest comin' t' stay wi' them? His name is Mr Montgomery an I have it on good authority that he is,' she paused dramatically, and gave Dickon a triumphant look before continuing, 'Mistress Mary's Beau.'

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

**Woohoo! I managed to complete this chapter in record time - but then again, it is winter and I appear to have a lot of time on my hands during these cold nights. I really must say thank you to all the reviewers who gave me useful feedback for the previous chapter - you guys rock! This chapter is set six months after Mary leaves for London, and shows Mary and Colin travelling back to Misselthwaite for Christmas. I can really relate to that cold, wintery weather at the moment, lol!**

**I hope you all enjoy it, anyway, and please let me know what you think...**

**xxx**

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**Yorkshire, early December, 1908**

The return home to Misselthwaite, had been his idea, originally.

Colin Craven now sat opposite his cousin, Mary Lennox, as their carriage bumped and bounced over the stony road that lead through the Yorkshire Moors. He observed his Cousin closely as they went, watched her expression as she stared out of the window of their carriage. She had been rather silent the entire trip, which puzzled Colin. He would have thought – given her melancholy behaviour when she first came to stay in London six months ago – that she would be overjoyed to be heading home at last.

Yet she had surprised him. When he had suggested the trip, she had gone very silent for a long time, before finally replying, answering him with yes, she would enjoy a trip back to Misselthwaite for Christmas.

Colin supposed that her reluctance to leave was due to the young man who had taken up residence at the Sutherland household – young Mr William Montgomery – and like Mary, orphaned by the same earthquake that had taken her parents. He had quietly observed the two of them spending more and more time together.

Of course, Colin Craven had heard talk that Mr Montgomery would be his cousin's 'beau' sooner or later (and by the measure of some, they were already promised to each other – in secret), yet he couldn't shake off the feeling that the feelings between the two were not mutual – and there was something about the young man, as likeable as he was, that Colin simply didn't trust.

Colin turned back to look at his cousin. He adored her, much as a brother would a sister, and he hoped that their visit to Misselthwaite would bring her some happiness...

* * *

She was returning home, at last. Yet she wondered why she felt so empty, inside.

Mary Lennox silently stared out of the window of the carriage, watching the moor fly past. It was early December - bleak and barren, and shrouded in misty rain, the moor rather similar to that of a dull grey sea. She recalled another time, almost seven years hence, when she had passed through the moor on a similar trip, sitting opposite a stuffy old housekeeper.

The past few months had flown by, as though a dream.

Mary had finally got to the experience the London 'society' that had long been spoken of, that everyone considered a crucial part of her transformation into a modern, young lady. During her stay with the Sutherland family, she had attended many formal dinners and dances, had been presented formally at her 'coming out' party, which she had hosted alongside Samantha Sutherland.

But now, leaving London behind, and coming back to Misselthwaite, she felt peculiarly empty.

Watching the moor as they drove reminded her so strongly of him, that it almost brought tears to her eyes. She recalled the last time she had seen him – roughly six months ago, as her carriage had taken her further and further away from everything she had held dear. She had caught sight of him, on the moor, seated on his horse, as though he were a natural feature of the landscape. She wondered what Dickon was doing now, and what she was going to say when she saw him. She still had no idea why he had sent the letter telling her that it was over between them. All she could do was speculate, and over the weeks and months that followed after she had received it, all sorts of ideas had gone through her mind. She presumed that Dickon would still be employed as the under-gardener to Ben Weatherstaff – as he had been when she left. Surely she would have a chance to see him, and finally ascertain the real reason why he had called things off?

Then she remembered, and it hit her suddenly. William. Wills would be coming to stay with them in little over a week's time. How would she be able to catch up with Dickon alone, then? She would have to make sure it happened before she arrived.

'You are awfully quiet, Cousin.' she heard Colin say, and she looked up, noticing that he was frowning. 'I would have thought you'd be excited to be returning home.'

She chose her words carefully, not wanting to give away how she felt. 'Yes, I am excited. You know how it is... it was such a long train journey, I suppose I'm just feeling a little tired.'

He nodded. 'Yes, well I'm sure the maids would have made up your room, so perhaps it would be wise for you to retire their as soon as we return.'

'Yes, I'm sure they will have done, if Mrs Medlock has had anything to do with it.' she replied, smiling thinly.

* * *

Her room was just as it was when she had left.

She entered, her mind immediately contrasting the dark, old fashioned wood to the lighter, more modern interiors of her room at the Sutherland residence. Had the manor always seemed this ancient and imposing? She walked slowly over to her bed, taking in every detail as though seeing them again through a new pair of eyes – the ornately carved bedposts, the worn and old fashioned tapestries on the walls, the roaring fire in the middle of the room, and the stuffy old armchairs that were arranged next to it. Mary wondered if the roaring fire was Sarah Clare's doing, or if she was merely following directions from Mrs Medlock? She strode over to the fireplace, standing next to the roaring flames for a few seconds, before taking a seat in one of the armchairs. Her ears picked up the sounds of the coals burning, then the sounds from beyond the room – the wuthering wind and the rain that splattered against the heavy glass windows of her room.

Sitting beside the fire, Mary felt warm and safe. She found her thoughts turning to Dickon, as they almost always did when she was alone. Had she really been gone so long? It had been six months, after all. With all of her being, she desperately wished to see Dickon – and for him to explain what had possessed him to end their relationship. Was it because she had been so far away from him? She had said she would wait for him, and he had promised the same. A strange excitement began to build within her at the thought of seeing Dickon again, of experiencing the moment that she had thought about over and over for so many months.

Would he turn her away? That was the reaction that Mary feared the most. She didn't think she could stand seeing indifference, let alone dislike in Dickon's eyes, and the more she thought about it, the less likely it appeared. She recalled the letter that he had sent. In it, he had stated simply that he had to end what they had, he hadn't given a reason. It was so unlike Dickon, and she had been too upset at the time to realise it. Really, she thought, it was almost as if he didn't have a choice….Of course, the other possibility that she had long contemplated was that Dickon would sweep her into his arms, and then explain that it was all a misunderstanding. Her heart pounded hard as she imagined how good it would feel to be in Dickon's arms again – to feel their sturdy weight against her, to smell the heather and gorse on his skin and clothes.

_I will go to the gardens andl find Dickon tomorrow and then I will ask him why_, she decided. _He will tell me, I know he will._

She stared into the glowing embers of the fire, suddenly realising just how tired she was. She yawned deeply and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the rain droning outside.

* * *

She awoke some time later to the sound of someone putting more coal on the fire. Groggily, she opened her eyes.

Sarah Clare crouched before her. The young maid was stirring the fire. Mary smiled as she noticed the smudge of soot on the young woman's pale cheek.

The maid turned around, and seeing Mary awake, startled, her hand flying up to her mouth.

'Eh! I'm sorry Miss, I didn't mean t' wake thee!'

The Yorkshire accent was so familiar to Mary, stirring up deep feelings. She reached out and touched the girl on the shoulder, remembering how helpful she had been to her when she was leaving for London.

'It's quite all right, Sarah. I shouldn't be sleeping anyway.'

Sarah looked up with affection. 'It's good t' have thee back, Miss Mary.' She blushed slightly. She lowered her tone and looked at the young woman intently. 'Tha' was missed when thee went t' London.'

Mary was surprised, she didn't think her absence would have much of an effect on anybody, let alone the servants of Misselthwaite. She felt oddly stirred. 'Thank you, Sarah. I….. I missed being here, too.'

'It's good that thee is back, Miss Mary.' Sarah replied, before going back to sweeping the hearth. 'Oh, an th' Master wanted me t' tell thee that dinner is at seven – an about half an' hour.'

After Sarah left, Mary made her way up to the dining room, where she was welcomed home by her Uncle Archie. She noticed that her Uncle approached her with trepidation, his eyes worried. After the way she had behaved upon leaving Misselthwaite, Mary couldn't blame him. She was surprised to find that all the original feelings of resentment had disappeared. She hadn't realised how good it would feel to see her Uncle Archie again, and she gladly settled into his open arms, feeling oddly sentimental as he hugged her tightly against him.

'Welcome home, my dear.' He said softly, stepping back and taking a look at her. 'My word,' he whispered, 'You look even more grown up, almost…..' he paused and swallowed, his eyes shining. 'Almost the splitting image of your Mother.'

'Now now, Father, don't go getting all sentimental on us!' Colin laughed, stepping forward to them. 'Although I think I speak for all of us when I say how wonderful it is to be together as a family again.'

Mary felt a sweeping gratitude for her Cousin. Colin always knew what to say, and how to diffuse a tense emotional situation.

Dinner progressed, and Mary found herself feeling oddly as though she has never left. She answered her Uncle's questions about London and the Sutherland family.

'Well, I must say, I am looking forward to meeting this young man that has been staying with the two of you at the Sutherland residence.' Archibald Craven stated, after they had finished dessert. 'And Colin tells me that he was born in India. He sounds fascinating.'

'He is.' Mary replied, before she could think of what she was saying. 'I mean, yes, he is interesting – he'll be able to entertain you with his stories of India.'

'Oh how wonderful,' her Uncle enthused. 'And tell me, is it true that we might be seeing a great deal _more_ of this young man in the future?'

'Really, Father!' Colin scoffed, 'Is finding a husband for Mary all that you can think of?'

Mary blushed deeply at her Uncle's suggestion. She had known William for almost six months – as a friend, and had not considered him as anything else in the short time that she had known him.

'Will – Mr Montgomery and I are merely friends, Uncle.' Mary replied, hastily taking a sip of her drink in an effort to hide her embarrassment.

'Look Father, you've gone and embarrassed Mary.' Colin added. 'Really, you ought to stop listening to the gossip of servants!'

An awkward silence descended for a few moments, before Mary decided to pursue what was foremost on her mind – in the only way she could.

'So, Uncle, is there any news from Misselthwaite?'

Her Uncle looked relieved, and Colin smirked at her with his eyebrows raised, in a look that said _'You have let him off easy.'_

She picked up her glass and took a long drink in order to quell her nerves.

'Ah yes! Let me see….. news from Misselthwaite….. well, I suppose you probably already know that Dickon has left?'

Mary almost choked on her mouthful of wine, her heart sinking.

'What?' she whispered.

'Dickon has left Misselthwaite?' Colin asked at the same time, his voice showing his confusion. 'Why?'

Her Uncle looked from Colin to Mary, and then replied. 'I thought the two of you knew. He's been gone for some months now.'

Mary sat in silence, too stunned to say anything. How could Dickon have left Misselthwaite? And more than that, she couldn't imagine Misselthwaite without Dickon. It was just too awful to contemplate. She sat quite still, in shock, trying to digest her Uncle's words.

'Why would Dickon leave Misseltwhaite?' she heard Colin ask. 'I thought he was under-gardener to Ben Weatherstaff. Wasn't he due to replace him eventually as head Gardener?'

'Yes, it was a real shame.' Archie replied. 'I was hoping he would stay on and become the next Head-Gardener. Goodness knows, that lad has a way with nature that I've never seen in anyone else. But apparently there was trouble in his family – his Father took ill suddenly, and Dickon had to go and help with his Father's carting business in the village.' He shook his head slowly. 'Such a shame. That boy could have aspired to great things.'

'Can you believe that, Mary?' Colin asked, incredulous.

'No.' she shook her head, trying vainly to appear that the news wasn't affecting her. 'I can't.'

She felt her Uncle Archie reach over and touch her arm. 'Do not be too concerned, Niece. I'm sure he will still be able to come and visit.'

'_Come and visit_.' Mary thought. She suddenly knew how unlikely it would be that Dickon would come to see them. She felt an overwhelming despair begin to well up inside her. Dickon had left Misselthwiate – he might as well have moved to another galaxy for all the chance she would get in seeing him again. _I'll_ _never be able to find out why, and I'll never be able to tell him how I still feel,_ she realised. She felt ill.

'Yes…… I'm sure he will. May I please be excused, Uncle. I'm feeling rather tired after our long journey today.'

'Of course you may.' Her Uncle stated simply, his large eyes meeting hers.

'Are you feeling all right, Mary?' Colin asked, looking concerned. 'You seem to have gone awfully pale.'

'I'm just tired, Colin. I'll be fine, really.' In desperation, she changed the subject. 'Perhaps we could meet for breakfast in the morning, in your room if you like. Remember how we used to eat breakfast together when we were children?'

'Yes, I would like that, Mary.' Colin replied, his concern leaving to be replaced by delight. 'Maybe I'll ask cook to make us a batch of warm muffins.'

She nodded mutely, 'Goodnight then, Uncle. Goodnight Cousin.'

She left the room, and it was only once she had closed the door behind her that the tears began to fall.

* * *

The next morning, Mary met Colin for breakfast as she had promised.

'I'm thinking of going to visit Martha this morning,' she told her Cousin, taking a bite of a muffin, but finding she had no appetite to eat it.

'She'll enjoy a visit from you.' Colin said, nodding in approval. 'Does she still live in the village?'

'Yes, as far as I'm aware.'

'Give her my love, won't you Mary. Isn't it strange? I was so beastly to her as a child, I wonder if she has ever forgotten that?'

Mary smiled at the memory – of the little rajah screaming at everyone with as much fury as his sickly constitution would allow.

'I doubt it. Who could forget that awful child?'

'Mary!' Colin exclaimed, laughing. He reached down and threw a pillow at her. 'You were hardly any better!'

'Yes, that is true. Although I think we've both done a lot of growing up since then.'

Colin chuckled. 'Let's hope so! Goodness Mary, isn't it strange to think that Dickon is no longer working in the gardens? Perhaps when you see Martha you can ask her to pass on a message to him – that he simply must come up and visit us over Christmas.

The relaxed humour died inside Mary at the mention of Dickon's name. 'Of course.' She said quietly.

'Oh, and when you're in the village, make sure you stop by the Bakery. I'm simply dying to eat one of those cinnamon buns.'

* * *

Mary did not have any trouble acquiring the use of the carriage on such short notice – being a lady must have some advantages after all, she thought ironically.

She travelled into the village of Thwaite with Sarah Clare – who had been instructed to do some shopping for the manor while they were in the village. Mary felt relieved at the thought of Sarah being busy enough to leave her alone to talk to Martha in peace.

The village of Thwaite was empty for the most part – all the activity of summer having given way to the cooler months of winter, and the few people that were out, bent their heads down against the wind, hurrying to wherever they were going. Still, Mary felt excitement tinged with nervousness course through her. She was going to see Martha, and she would tell Martha about the letter and Dickon's strange behaviour. She knew that Martha would be able to give her an insight as to why Dickon had acted in such a way…. And perhaps….. just perhaps, Martha would know where Mary would be able to find Dickon.

The carriage rolled to a halt outside the bakery, and Mary stepped out, remembering her promise to buy Colin a Cinnamon bun. The cold wind rushed around her as she stepped out down from the carriage, and Mary wrapped her wool coat more firmly around her. Sarah Clare also stepped down, and Mary could see from her pinched face that she was also reacting to the cold.

'Tis' a mighty cold wind, Miss.' Sarah said. 'Is tha' sure tha' is warm enough?'

'I'll be fine, Sarah.' She replied, smiling gently at the young maid. 'Now, shall we meet back here in an hour's time? Will that give you enough time to do all your shopping?'

Sarah nodded. 'Aye, it should. But make sure tha' stay's out o' the wind Miss. Wouldn't want thee catching tha' death of a cold.'

Sarah walked away, and Mary took the time to take in the village around her. It all seemed so quaint after the big department stores of London, yet at the same time it felt so warming and familiar. _I am_ _home and this is where I belong_, she thought.

She walked slowly towards Martha's house, taking in the comings and goings of the street. At last she reached the front door of the red brick house, second in the row of tenement buildings that stood at the edge of the village. Hesitantly, she reached up and knocked on the door.

She waited for a few moments for the familiar sound of Martha coming towards the door, yet no one came. She pressed her ear closer to the door, frowned, then knocked once more.

She stood patiently, straining her ear for some sound – anything that would tell her that Martha was home. She hadn't even considered the fact that her old friend might have gone out for the day. _She must be here,_ Mary thought desperately. _Perhaps she is just busy with the children?_

Yet no one came, and dull realisation began to creep over her. Disappointment searing through her body, she backed away from the door, then turned and walked slowly down the street, heading back towards the main shopping area of the village. Nothing seemed to be going to plan. She hadn't seen Martha, and she now had almost an hour on her hands until she would be able to leave again. Wondering if she should look for Sarah or wait in the small bakery, she decided on the latter, paying for a pot of tea for herself, and the cinnamon bun for Colin.

She took a seat by the window, where she could view the street, listlessly sipping on her tea. Her eyes caught sight of a large cart that pulled up outside one of the shops on the opposite side of the street. She watched as two of the men got down off the front of the cart, noting something familiar about the younger of the two. What was it? Surely it couldn't be….? She moved closer to the window, straining her eyes to see. He was a little broader, but there was no doubt about it. _'It can't_ _be….'_ She whispered '_Yet it is._' Excitement swept through her and she felt her heart pounding furiously. It _was_ Dickon.

'_Oh my goodness, Dickon.'_ She heard herself whisper, and her hand flew up to her throat. She hadn't realised what effect seeing him for the first time in six months would have on her. A curious feeling swept over her, it was as though she was paralysed, unable to move, unable to do anything except watch him. He moved with the same graceful ease he had always possessed, jumping down lightly from the driver's seat of the cart. Her eyes drank him in, taking in every little part of him. He was wearing clothes she hadn't seen him wear before – work pants and a woollen coat that reached halfway down his thighs. The cap on his head was new, too, she marvelled. It was as though she was seeing Dickon again for the first time, as though he was a completely different person.

Silently, she willed him to turn around, to see her, but he was busying himself with unloading the cart. She watched him as he handled the boxes on the back of the cart, passing them to the older man who stood beside him. More than anything she wanted to cross the street and talk to him, but she held back, unsure of what she should do. She had waited for this moment for so long, and now that it was here, she didn't know how to proceed. She placed her fingers up to the frosty glass, tracing Dickon's figure with her finger-tips. Everything felt too real, frozen in time. She felt a lump rise up in her throat, and she swallowed hastily, her eyes blinking away tears. She watched as the cart was unloaded, and the two men concluded their business. Dickon jumped back up into the driver's seat and rubbed his hands together, before taking the reins and urging the horses forward. Her eyes followed them down the street, until she could see them no more.

_Somehow I will find out a way to speak to you, Dickon_. She promised herself. _Somehow I will find out the truth. _


	17. Chapter 17

**Greetings, everyone! I've finally found the time to update, yay! It's winter here at the moment, so I'm sitting at my computer with frozen fingers, dreaming of hot chocolate :D**

**I'm feeling positive, because I now have the last five chapters planned out! yipee! the end is in sight, dear readers. And yes, I do plan on this story having a happy ending. Loose ends will be tied up, and certain people will get what they deserve. Thanks for sticking it out with me. **

**This chapter signals the end of the first part of the story. And yes, Mary and Dickon finally get reunited... in a way... **

**Please let me know what you think...  
**

* * *

**Chapter 17**

**Misselthwaite Manor, December, 1908**

'Dickon', she whispered to him, brushing light snowflakes off her face.

'Mary.' he replied. His voice was soft, gentle, like the snow that fell around them. She let out a shuddering breath, before continuing, drinking in the beauty of his blue eyes.

'Please... can I speak with you?'

* * *

**Two weeks before...**

'What time will William be arriving?'

Colin was lounging on one of the couches in the sitting room, idly flicking through a large, leatherbound book. Mary looked up, rather impatiently. She was intuitive enough to know that her cousin hadn't actually been reading, and that he had been waiting until they were alone to ask her the question that was on his mind. She sighed, wishing she could be left alone with her thoughts.

'He said he would be arriving on Friday on the 9pm train.'

Her reply was brief, and Colin looked up from his book, an eyebrow raised in curiousity.

'So... you'll be happy to see him, I expect?'

'What?' she replied absently, before remembering herself. 'Oh yes. Yes I will be.'

Mary had struggled with conversation all night. Conversation that ususally flowed so easily, between her and Colin. She hadn't felt like herself ever since that day she had seen Dickon in the village. That had been three days ago, and she still couldn't get him out of her mind. He seemed to lurk there... haunting her, and his image would come up when she least expected it. She recalled how he had looked – older somehow, more worldly. Not the Dickon she had known.

Also, Misselthwaite just didn't seem right without Dickon. As far as she could remember, Dickon had always been there. They had been friends since she had first arrived. Misselthwaite without Dickon was like Christmas without snow. It was like an unlit fire. It made her feel empty, and cold. It wasn't right.

* * *

She saw her Cousin's enquiring look, and turned her face back down to her book, hoping to signal that the conversation was over. Her thoughts turned to William. While in London, they had made plans for him to spend Christmas at Misselthwaite, having no family of his own. It had felt like a wonderful plan at the time as Mary genuinely enjoyed William's company. The two had become firm friends in the past few months, and Mary felt as though he was someone she could easily relate to, and someone who pleased her and who she enjoyed being around. Yet now, sitting in the sitting room at Misselthwaite, it no longer felt like a good decision, and she wondered why she had ever thought William coming to stay would be a good idea. She was also aware that many people thought of William as her beau – Sam had certainly informed her that her Mother anticipated a proposal in the spring, and a wedding to follow that summer. Everyone seemed to be making plans, yet Mary couldn't imagine spending her life with William. It wasn't that she didn't like him – she did. It was, she concluded to herself, all about what he wasn't. And he wasn't Dickon.

* * *

The man in question, was once again being pursued by a short, red haired young woman.

He was once again in the village of Thwaite, packing the cart for a delivery to a house on the outskirts of the village. He saw her walking across the street, and quickly turned the other way.

'Dickon!' he heard her shout, as he tried to ignore her. 'Can I not speak wi' thee?'

'It looks as though she's after tha' again, Dickon.' chuckled one of his workmates. 'Never gives up, that one.'

He gritted his teeth, preparing himself. More than anything, Dickon did not want to lose control. Perhaps this time he would be able to tell her to go on her way, and not be drawn into talking with her. He still felt ashamed about what had happened the last time they spoke. The thought of kissing her still lingered in Dickon's mind, and disgusted him.

She ran up to him, then stopped, leaning on the side of the cart to catch her breath.

'Ah! There ya' are, Dickon. It's been a while since we last spoke, eh! What a coincidence that we should meet here, in th' village, again?'

'Aye, coincidence indeed.' he replied drily, continuing to work.

She smiled through his sarcasm. 'I thought thee might like t' know th' latest goings on from Misselthwaite – especially now that Mistress Mary and Master Colin have returned.'

He stopped what he was doing, feeling a strange pang in his heart at the mention of her name, and that she was back at Misselthwiate. It seemed impossible that she could be back, that he might even bump into her at some point – Thwaite village was a small place, after all, and he did at times take deliverys up to Misslethwaite. He stood still, silently digesting the information.

Susie waited for his reply, then frowned, continuing. 'Tha' is awfully quiet today. Cat got tha' tongue, Dickon?'

He felt his ire rise. He knew her well enough to know that she had not stopped by for a simple chat. She had something in mind, and it was something that involved him. And it angered him that she should think him so easily manipulated. _I've got no reason whatsoever to play her games_, he told himself. _She has no more power over me._

'Look, Susie.' he said curtly. 'I haven't all day t' stand here gossipin'. In case tha' hadn't noticed, ' he gestured towards the cart 'I've got work t' do. So why don't tha' just go an' leave me to it?'

She laughed quietly. 'No, I don't think I will 'leave thee to it.' No, Dickon. I've come here for a reason. There's something I want t' hear thee say t' me. Something I want thee t' promise.'

'What?' he almost spat, feeling his anger rise to the surface. 'What could tha' possibly say that I would want t' hear?'

He waited for a few seconds, searching her face. Her eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips, before replying.

'Only that I don't want thee seein' Miss Mary now that she is back. Because I know thee, Dickon. I know what you are like. Tha' will wait till thee has a chance, then you will catch her alone an' tell her everythin', because I know that tha' still wants her. An when that happens, knowin' her, she'll find some reason or other t' get back at me. I'll lose my place. So I can't be havin' that now, can I?'

She seemed to have read his very thoughts. There was nothing Dickon wished more in the world than to speak to Mary and explain why he had sent that letter. In the back of his mind he had visions of her forgiving him, of the two of them going back to how things had been before Mary had left and everything had fallen apart. Dickon desperately wished to tell her the truth, and Susie had known that he would try to, all along.

'So I'll tell thee wha' will happen, Dickon. If tha' meets wi' her, or if she seeks thee out, tha' will tell her that there is someone else. Tha' won't mention anything about th' so called 'truth' behind that letter. Because you see, if tha' does, I will spread such stories around about you tha' you wouldn't believe. I have th' power to damage both thee and tha' families reputation in this village. I'm not wi' out friends, Dickon. So don't you go forgetting that. So will you do wha' I tell thee, or no'?

* * *

Mary sat perfectly still, looking out of the window, as she waited to see the lights of the carriage coming up the drive to Misselthwaite. The moon was full, and it hung in the sky, casting a pale glow over the dark wilderness of the moor that lay beyond her window. The view was so beautiful, everything so still and silent. It was late, the large house quiet for the most part. Colin had left earlier to go in the carriage and receive William at the Thwaite train station, and Mary knew that they would be arriving back shortly. She had declined the opportunity to attend, much to Colin's confusion, and had instead spent the time in silent contemplation – wondering how she was going to deal with the problems that William's visit would bring.

At last she saw the dim glow of the carriage lights, heading up the road towards the house. William and Colin had arrived. She felt her heart sink. Even though it had proved impossible, she still hadn't had the chance to speak to Dickon. She drew away from the window and eased herself into bed, shivering under the cold covers, and silently wondering if she would ever manage to get to speak to Dickon alone, now that William had come to stay.

The next morning, she awoke, immediately feeling rather listless. She dawdled over breakfast, knowing that Colin would expect her in the sitting room as soon as she was dressed. They had planned to meet early, and show William around the house and the gardens – if the weather was good. Mary felt torn between feeling happy that her friend had arrived, yet strange at the same time. She had only know William in London – and London was a whole world away from Misselthwaite. She couldn't imagine taking William around the gardens – especially the secret garden. Somehow, the idea seemed almost sacrilegious – as though those places would be tainted somehow, by William's presence.

'Tha' seems a little quiet this mornin?' her maid, Sarah Clare enquired, as she bent down to pick up the breakfast tray. 'Is tha' no' feelin' well?'

She shrugged unhappily, staring into the fireplace. 'Not really, no.'

'Is there anythin' I can do, Miss?' Sarah asked, her concern showing in her voice.

'No.' Mary shook her head. 'There is nothing anyone can do. I've got no one to talk to. No one who will understand.'

'Not even...' Sarah paused, as though thinking through what she was about to say. 'Not even Dickon?'

'Dickon?' Mary's eyes flew open in surprise, and she stared up at Sarah intently. She hadn't expected Sarah to say _that._

'I have it on good authority,' Sarah said, lowering her tone, and leaning closer, 'That he will be here at th' manor around midday – makin' a delivery o' some sort. Its just... well, I know Miss tha' you an' he were always good friends. An that...well... thee might find it hard t' see him now he no longer works here.'

'Midday did you say?' Mary's mind was spinning. She was already planning how she was going to get away from Colin and William and meet up with Dickon – preferrably somewhere private. 'Where is he likely to be dropping the goods off?'

* * *

Mary had never known a morning to last so long in her entire life. She spent the morning catching up with Colin and William, watching the snow fall from the window of the sitting room. It had begun snowing late the night before, which meant that they were unable to show William around the grounds of the manor – for now. Privately, Mary was relieved. Her eyes once again flicked upwards to the Grandfather clock that sat at the opposite end of the room.

Colin and William were engrossed in one of her Uncle's old photography albums. Usually, Mary found the old pictures fascinating – a piece of her past, which she shared with Colin. Today however, she found that she couldn't concentrate, and when the clock struck half past eleven, she knew that she had to make her move.

'Goodness, is that the time?' she suddenly said loudly, looking up as though she had just remembered something. 'I told Sarah that I'd give her a letter for Martha – she's heading down into the village at midday.'

'Don't be too long.' Colin replied, 'Remember we're all having lunch together.'

William's warm eyes met hers. 'It would be an awful shame if you were to miss lunch with us, Mary. Besides, Colin tells me that the cooking at Misselthwaite is to die for.'

'Yes... it is rather good.' she replied. Getting up. 'Please excuse me – I won't be long.'

She barely noticed Colin's bewildered expression as she left the room. Once she was in the hallway she broke into a run – heading towards her room where her warm clothes lay waiting. She didn't want to miss him – again.

* * *

She waited, hidden behind the hedge, shivering lightly in the snow. Somehow, it felt so good just to be watching him, drinking in the image of him. She watched as he loaded large wooden boxes off the back of the cart. He worked alone, and he worked efficiently, pausing only to rub his glove clad hands together to warm them. Her heart thudded in her chest, the moment she had been waiting for so long having arrived at once. All she had to do was walk out from behind the hedge, and he would see her – they would speak, and she would discover the real reason for the letter he had sent, all those months ago.

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She was ready.

* * *

'Mary.' His voice was soft, gentle, like the snow that fell around them. She felt tears of emotion spring to her eyes as she heard his voice, his Yorkshire accent, the way he said her voice. How she had missed that voice, and the way he said her name.

For a brief moment, it was as though no time had passed between them. It felt so natural to be standing next to Dickon, to be speaking with him, at last. Then she remembered the letter, and how Dickon had stated that he could no longer be with her. That part of him – was still a stranger to her.

She opened her mouth to speak, and was shocked to hear her voice quivering.

'Please... can I speak with you?'

He sounded as startled as she did.

'Aye.'

'Could we not go some where we could be a- alone?'

Was it just her imagination, or were Dickon's eyes filled with emotion, too? They seemed unnaturally blue, wide open with the surprise of seeing her. He stood still, silently breathing in the cold air, as the snow fell around them, and she was reminded of a stag in a woodland Glen. Perfectly still and silent.

He seemed to find his voice at last. 'Ah... O' course. But I ... I canna be too long.'

'Shall we...?' she gestured down the path. She didn't need to tell Dickon where they were going. They both knew.

He nodded in response, then she turned to walk, leading the way, wanting to appear stronger than she felt.

Silence reigned around them as they walked, and Mary could barely hear Dickon moving behind her. Her mind wandered back to when they had first met, and he had appeared to her like a wild creature off the moor. Seven years later, and Dickon hadn't appeared to have lost his way of moving with stealth, of being one with nature.

They at last reached the door of the Secret Garden, Mary opened it, with shaking hands, and the two of them stepped inside.

Inside, the garden was a winter wonderland, everything purified by the white snow. Mary struggled to contain her emotions, but she steadied herself, her desire to speak to Dickon overcoming everything else. Somehow, she found the strength to begin. She spoke quietly, lifting her eyes every now and again so they met his.

'I had to see you, Dickon. I had to know that what we had was real. I...' she paused, searching for the right words. 'After I received that letter, I didn't know what was real any more. I couldn't believe that you could do what you did, hurt me so much. I thought that perhaps if I found you, and asked you why, then you would be able to tell me. Please, Dickon. Please tell me. Why did you do it? Why did you wish to end what we had?'

She looked up and saw that he was shaking.

'I'm so sorry, Mary. I never wanted t' hurt you,' he paused, as though searching for the right words. 'But I... I ...I had no choice.'

Could it be? She looked at him closely, shocked by what she observed. His eyes were welling with tears. Dickon was crying. She brought her arm up, in a natural gesture to comfort him, but feeling self-conscious, let it fall to her side.

'I don't understand, Dickon. How could you have had no choice?'

'Please...' he begged. 'Please don't ask me t' do this. I can't talk about it.'

'But why not?' she demanded, hot tears beginning to fill her eyes. None of it made sense. 'Why can't you talk about it, Dickon? Was it because I left Misselthwaite, and went to London? Is that the reason?'

He shook his head, then lifted a hand up to brush his tears away. 'Tha's not it. Please, Mary. Don't ask this o' me.'

The only other reasonable explanation suddenly came to mind. She struggled to push it away, but it rose to the surface.

'It's because there's someone else, isn't there, Dickon? That's why you ended it.'

They stood very still, silence descending between them. She stared up at Dickon's face, he appeared to be struggling with something. She took a step towards him, wishing to take him in her arms and comfort him, to end the ridiculous situation. She had never seen Dickon cry before, and it shocked her to her very core.

Not wanting to hear his reply, she took another step forward, then another.

She reached out and placed her arms around him, pulling him towards her. He held back, only for a moment, and then his arms were around her, and she could feel the warm familiarity of his body, he was beside her at last, the one person she had ached to hold for so long.

'I don't want to know, Dickon. Please, just hold me.'

'I don't want t' know, either.' he murmured.

She pulled back a little, looking up into his eyes. They were filled with sadness. More than anything, she wanted to see Dickon's eyes full of light and laugher again. More than anything, she wanted to feel that he still loved her. She reached her hand around the back of his head, pulling his face down towards hers, until their lips met. She kissed him deeply, passionately, until he began to kiss her back. The intensity of the kiss took her breath away. She felt herself breathing Dickon in, not wanting to let him go, utter relief descending. He kissed her as though he wanted to taste every part of her, and the kiss was more real and more beautiful than anything she had ever experienced. Her hands reached beneath his jacket, and she could feel his skin – warm and smooth, through the rough fabric of his shirt.

'Mary!' she heard him moan, as they drew apart, gasping for breath.

Being apart from him was too painful, the emotions too intense. They gave into each other once more, and Dickon's mouth found hers, and they kissed each other through their tears.

They drew apart, and she looked up into his eyes, searching for answers.

'Please tell me.' she whispered. 'I can't go on like this, not knowing why.'

Dickon looked up, as though he had just come out of a dream. He still held her, but his eyes looked away, as if he didn't want to meet her gaze. She felt herself grow more confused.

'Why, Dickon?'

'I ... I can't.' utter despair filled his features. He pulled himself away from her, and her arms hung down by her side, dejected.

The euphoria she had felt upon kissing Dickon seemed to disappear as fast as it had come. 'I don't understand.'

'I'm sorry, ' he said so softly she could barely hear him. 'But I... I can't... If I do... I ... no...I have t' ... I have t' go. Tis for th' best.'

'Dickon!' she cried, as he moved away from her. 'Please tell me! I have to know. Is there... is there someone else?'

He stopped, turned around, and she saw infinite sadness in his eyes, like storm clouds gathering over a blue sky. He looked away quickly.

'Aye... there is someone else.' he said softly, looking away. He paused, seeing her devestated expression, and seemed just about to say something, before thinking better of it and walking away, leaving only footprints in the white snow.

Her sobs overtook her, and she barely noticed Dickon leaving the garden. She collapsed on the snowy ground, and cried.

* * *

Some time later, she heard footsteps came up behind her, crunching through the snow.

'Mary? Good god, Mary, what's wrong?'

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and another, helping her up, out of the snow. She stood weakly, wanting only to sink back down and never get up again. Dickon didn't love her, he had found someone else. What reason was there to go on?

'Come on, let's get you somewhere warm.'

At last she looked up, staring into the concerned face of William. She stared down at her dress as though seeing herself for the first time. It was covered with snowflakes and melted snow. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there, but she supposed it had been some time.

'William...' she began. 'I...'

'You're freezing,' he was saying, as he shrugged off his coat. He placed it gently around her shoulders. 'How long have you been out here? I've been looking for you everywhere.'

'I don't know...' she murmured. Nothing seemed real. Perhaps this was all a dream and she would wake up soon. 'I think a while...' She suddenly realised how cold she was, and she shivered violently.

'Come on, let's get you inside and get you warmed up.'

His voice was kind and reassuring, and she responded to it. It seemed to fill some of the hollowness that had been building inside, it almost seemed to take the chill off her heart. But she knew that nothing would fill the gap that Dickon had left. He was gone, he had found someone else, and he would not be coming back.

**End of Part 1.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello everyone, here is the latest instalment - four more to go! yay, I'm counting down to the end and it's rather exciting. Anyway, this chapter I must say was really really hard to write! lots of difficult and rather 'delicate' scenes that I wanted to get just right - so I'll let you guys be the judge of that - if I succeeded or not. This chapter is set about 1 1/2 years after the previous chapter - a little confusing, I know, but that's how it goes. It's set in London, around the time of Mary's 18th birthday. Hopefully it's a little more upbeat than the last chapter, which even I have to admit, was a little depressing (although I do like a good dose of the sad stuff every once in a while!).  
**

**The next chapter will be from Dickon's point of view, so there is some Dickon stuff coming up ... and life has changed rather dramatically for the young Mr Sowerby since we last saw him... **

**The characters are all growing up... sigh... I'm getting nostalgic!**

**Anyway, on with the story, and I do hope you enjoy this chapter... And lastly, those of you who took time to review the previous chapter... you guys rock my world! **

**xx Elyzia**

* * *

**Chapter 18**

**Beginning of Part 2**

**London: March, 1910**

'What do you think of these fabrics, Miss?'

Mary looked over at the friendly face of the shop keeper, who was holding up a variety of fabrics samples– all the latest colours and styles. She stood still, considering the different choices, her eyes narrowing in concentration, her hand under her chin, in a gesture of contemplation. At legnth, she pointed to one of the lighter coloured fabrics.

'I do like the look of that peach coloured fabric – and it is silk, I suppose?'

The woman nodded, passing the sample to Mary. 'Only the finest, Miss. We import only the best fabrics into our store.'

She took the fabric, and removed her gloves, so she could feel the texture of it beneath her fingertips.

'Mmmm... yes... I think that will do nicely.' She turned to the young woman standing next to her, and passed her the fabric. 'What do you think, Sam?'

Samantha Sutherland held the fabric up to Mary, and tilted her head to one side, before breaking out into a smile.

'I think you'll be the belle of the ball in that one, Mary! I don't think a _certain someone_ will be able to take his eyes off you!'

'May I ask what the occasion is, Miss?' the shopkeeper enquired.

'It's my birthday... my eighteenth birthday.' Mary finished.

'And is it to be a big occasion?'

'Yes, I believe so. Hopefully several people will turn up.' she joked.

'Of course they will, Mary. Don't be so silly. Honestly, you'd hardly believe that this young lady here was the belle of every social occasion, would you, by the way she talks!' Sam laughed. 'Not to mention the beau of a very eligible -'

'Be quiet, would you?' Mary hissed at her friend, embarrassed.

'Well, you'll be pleased to know that we make a large variety of gowns, in numerous styles and fashions.' the Shopkeeper continued, 'something for every occasion. If you'll just step this way, Miss, I'll have my assistant take your measurements.'

'Honestly, Sam, can you not keep quiet about Will when we're out in public?' Mary asked, once they were alone in the dressing room. 'I don't want all of London to know about him!'

'Oh Mary, stop being so dramatic! And I don't see why it has to be such a huge secret.'

'It's not that... .it's just,' she bit her lip, not knowing exactly what it was – and why she didn't want to speak about her relationship with William, 'its just that I like some things to be kept private, that's all.'

'Well, from what I've heard,' Sam leaned in to Mary 'it won't be very "quiet" for much longer.'

Mary felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and she turned her head away quickly. Her relationship with William had developed slowly, but she knew that it was common knowledge that he was now "her beau". She knew that she was lucky to have such an eligible young man – everyone told her so, and often – yet she couldn't think of their relationship as anything but casual. Couldn't or didn't want to, she wasn't sure. All she knew was that whenever someone implied that her relationship with William was developing into something serious, it made her feel uneasy.

'Can you help me with these buttons?' She asked, turning her back to Sam, hoping to change the subject.

'Of course.' Sam replied evenly, beginning to button up the back of the dress. 'And don't think for a second that Wills won't want you even more after he sees you in this gown. It may only be the shop model, but you still look absolutely stunning in the finished product.' She turned Mary around so that she was facing the mirror. 'See for yourself.'

Mary stared into the mirror, only to see a stranger staring back at her. A young woman, clad in a gown of silk, that emphasised the curves of her waist, the low neckline exposing her collarbones. A string of pearls around her neck, and her hair piled up high on her head. How strange this person seemed to her compared to the girl who had liked to run and laugh in the sunlight. The contrary girl who had spent all of her time outdoors, digging in the garden, who had refused to wear new clothes, preferring to go about in those that were comfortable. She looked at herself closely in the mirror, wondering what the young girl would think of this pampered object who stared back at her?

'It fits well, I suppose.' she said at last, without much enthusiasm.

'Oooh, Mary Lennox, you really frustrate me at times!' Sam replied. 'You could be the envy of every girl we know, and yet all you can say is _"it fits well"_.' She flung her hands up in frustration, and rolled her eyes. 'I really do think I should give up on you!'

Mary laughed quietly at her friends theatrics. 'You know me, Sam. I'm just not that interested in dressing up and all the social niceties that go with these events.'

'Yes, yes, I know, you would much rather be outdoors, the wind flying through your hair – to be found in some garden no doubt, covered in dirt from head to toe.'

Mary felt a stab of nostalgia rising up in her, which she tried to firmly push down. 'You know me too well.'

'And what do you suppose William would think of that? I'm sure he would much rather see you like this – dressed in finery from head to toe, in beautiful, expensive fabrics – perhaps a glittering necklace and bracelet to go with it?'

'Like a Rajah.' Mary whispered, feeling a chill in her heart.

'A what?' Sam frowned.

'Don't worry, forget I said anything.' She took her friends hand and smiled, trying to ignore the emotions that had risen to the surface.. 'Come on now, let's get your dress sorted out, or we'll be here all day.'

* * *

'Congratulations, Cousin. You have now joined the ranks of those with an inheritance. Happy birthday!'

Her cousin enclosed her in his arms, and hugged her tightly.

She returned the gesture, feeling the supple arms that held her, and wondered how eight years could have passed since they met. Not for the first time, she found herself comparing the Colin she knew now, to the sickly boy who had spent all his time in his bed, convinced he was going to die. The young man that stood before her now was tall and handsome, not to mention fiercely intelligent, his former demanding ways having been replaced by care and concern for others. She knew of quite a few young women who wouldn't mind becoming Mrs Craven, and she smiled at the thought. She couldn't imagine Colin settling down for a long time yet.

'Yes, my inheritance.' she replied. 'Do you know, I've barely thought about it my whole life. I suppose I've just become so used to being part of the 'Craven' family that it seems strange to think of my real parents.'

'They say an inheritance only serves to make a young woman even more attractive.' Colin stated. 'Especially when there are already suitors involved.'

She looked up into his dark eyes, but they gave nothing away. He returned her gaze evenly.

'I think it'll be a while before anything like that happens.' she said, guessing at his meaning. 'I am only eighteen, after all.'

'One thing I've learnt, my dear, is to never be certain of anything.' Colin replied. 'And from what I can gather... that time for you may not be too far away... just make sure that when you do make that commitment, that it's with the right person.'

For a second there, Mary remembered a pair of blue eyes that sparkled like the summer sky, a young man who was at one with nature. She shook her head, quickly pushing the image out of her mind.

'Oh Colin, you don't need to worry about me. When the time comes,' she smiled indulgently 'I'm sure I'll make the right choice.'

'I'll hold you to that.' he stated, seriously, then grinned widely, breaking the tension. 'Now, how about we celebrate our relative independence with a glass of this fine champagne?'

* * *

The celebrations were continuing inside the house, but Mary Lennox stood alone on the balcony of the large house. She stood quite still, immersed in the balmy night air, and the scents that drifted up to her from below – rose, honeysuckle, jasmine... She was so lost in her own thoughts and memories, that she barely noticed William coming up behind her until his hands were wrapped around her waist.

'I thought I'd never get you alone.' he murmured into her hair, 'but I see you decided to take matters into your own hands. Clever, clever girl...'

She drew his hands around her waist, leaning back into him. She could smell alcohol on his breath, and guessed that he had been drinking – but then, it was a party after all.

'You're missing all the excitement.' Mary said, entwining his hands in hers. 'Don't you want to go back?'

'I'd much rather be here, with you, with the lovely Miss Mary Lennox, the most beautiful girl in all of London – if not the world!'

She smiled affectionately at his words. He was always so enthusiastic about her. She only wished she could feel the same way.

'Oh stop it!' she said playfully, as he nestled in closer. 'Besides, I think I must be with the most handsome man in the room – did you see the way all those girls were looking at you?'

'They may have been,' he admitted, 'but I didn't notice them. I only have eyes for you.'

He pulled her around sharply, and kissed her hungrily, before standing back and sighing in frustration. 'Good God! Can we not leave this party and go somewhere more...private?'

She laughed, kissing him affectionately on the cheek. 'I'm afraid not – you see, I am the guest of honour, after all.' she ran her finger down his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of his skin. 'I think I may be missed if I happened to... disappear.'

'Hmm... that does make it rather difficult.' He stopped, and a serious expression came over his face. 'Although, I did have something I wanted to ask you, and perhaps now is the time...'

He put his hand into his pocket, and a dawning realisation came over her.

'Mary Lennox,' he said, smiling widely, 'There is something I've been meaning to ask you for quite some time now.'

She looked on, shocked, as he got down on one knee. His large eyes looked up into hers, as he held a small ring box out in front of him. 'Please,' he said, 'open it.'

She took the box from him with trembling hands, the moment she had been expecting for so long, having finally arrived. She slowly opened the lid of the box, and gasped when she saw the large diamond ring that sat there.

'Oh... I don't know what to say!' she exclaimed, 'It's ... it's lovely.'

'Say yes...' he said softly. 'Say you'll do me the honour of being my wife...'

His wife... it still came as a shock, although everyone had expected it, and she had known that the moment would come one day. Yet why did she not feel as excited as all the other young women she had spoken to, who had been proposed to? Perhaps, she thought, this was how one was supposed to feel? She stood still as William took her hand, and slipped the ring onto her finger. 'Look, ' he said, 'It fits perfectly.'

It did fit perfectly. She looked down, at her hand, at the manicured nails and pale skin – at the ring that encircled her finger, the large diamond glittering dimly in the lights of the nearby torches.

'It does...' she replied softly, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by emotion. She had so longed for this moment, had dreamed of finding someone to share her life with. Once again, the image of blue eyes flashed through her mind, and she saw a similar scene in her mind begin to play out – one that involved not a balcony in London, and a young man in an expensive suit, but something far different...

'Just like us, Mary. We're a perfect fit. Nothing would make me happier than spending my life with you, with you by my side as my wife. Please say yes, I don't know what I'd do if you didn't!'

'I ... I don't kn -'

'Say yes! Or I'll... why, I'd have no choice but to get up here on this balcony and farewell the world!' He began to climb up, a little unsteady on his feet, which she supposed was the effect of the alcohol. He began to get up on the balcony.

'Will!' gasped Mary, 'get down from there.'

She took his hand, and he laughed. 'I wouldn't really do it, Mary. Not really. You see, I'm too in love with you.' He stepped down, looking out to the city below, and shouted 'I love Mary Lennox!'

She stood still, not knowing what to say.

William took her hand once more, gently stroking her fingers. 'You see, I've declared my love to the world! Now, if only you'll give me your answer.'

'I...' she swallowed.

'Say it.' he whispered.

She paused. William really did love her, there was no doubt about it. She should be happy to have had such a proposal, and from such an eligible young man. They were a perfect match and she would never find someone she could have, who would love her as much as William.

_I had him once,_ she thought, _but no longer. I can't keep going on like this, hoping for something that is never going to happen. I have to let go of him once and for all._

She turned her eyes up to meet his. 'I'll do it.' she replied. 'I'll marry you.'

* * *

'So I see he finally proposed to you.' Colin said evenly.

They were sitting upstairs, in the residence of Colin's London home. He had come into his inheritance earlier that year, and had wasted no time in buying what he called a 'home away from home.' Privately, Mary suspected that this 'home' would be where Colin would end up spending the majority of his time. In many ways, he was a modern London man, through and through.

She nodded. 'He wanted to announce it at the party, but I didn't feel it was the right time.'

'It's a rather large ring, isn't it?' he said, taking her hand and inspecting the ring closely. 'And you always said I was like a rajah, covered in emeralds and jewels!'

They both laughed at this, remembering a time long ago, when they were children.

'Seriously, Mary, you have thought long and hard about this, I presume?'

'I have. William is a good man – he makes me laugh, We share the same background... It would be foolish not to marry.'

'It's just that... well... I always thought you'd end up with someone a little more...' Colin frowned, trying to think of the right word 'natural.'

'Natural?!' she exclaimed, giving a little laugh at Colin's choice of expression, not really understanding.

He shook his head. 'I'm sorry, that's not what I meant to say. What I meant was – someone who is like you – who loves gardens and nature and being outside. Someone like….. well, like Dickon.'

Her eyes flew up and met his. He was looking at her in such a queer way and it made her feel nervous. She tried to read his eyes, trying to gauge what he knew. Was it possible he had known? Had he just implied something, or was she seeing things that weren't there. She wasn't sure, and so remained silent, waiting to see what he would say next.

Colin's eyes searched her own, then he seemed to come to some resolution. He sighed, then touched her arm gently. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. 'I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I'm surprised you're getting married – given that…. Well, that you've never really gotten over ….. Dickon.'

She looked up, startled. Without thinking, she said the first thing that came to mind. 'How did you, how did you know?'

Colin looked up, sadly. 'I found out, funnily enough, through William. Although I'm sure he never had any idea about what had gone on …. Do you remember that last Christmas we went back there, when you disappeared and William found you outside in the snow?'

Mary nodded mutely, seeing everything clearly.

'Anyway, he confided in me after he found you, that he had seen two pairs of footprints into the snow – leading into the garden. He couldn't for the life of him work out who it was that had been with you, and what had made you so upset. Lord knows, he tried to find out. But I knew. I guess in a way I'd known all along.'

'You have?' she asked weakly.

Colin nodded. 'Once I thought about it, it was obvious from the beginning. I started thinking of all those times we had spent together – the three of us. I recalled the way I had sometimes seen him look at you – what I used to brush off as friendship. I thought about the way he looked at you – and you at him. Then when I looked back and thought of how devastated you were when you came to stay in London – it wasn't just homesickness, was it Mary?'

She shook her head, and looked down at her hands. 'No, it wasn't.'

'It's funny,' he continued. 'I suppose in the back of my mind I always thought that you and Dickon would end up with one another. You both seemed so 'right' for each other – if one can say such a thing.'

Colin stopped speaking, and once again stared up at her with his large eyes. They sat in silence for a moment, not knowing how to proceed.

'You're not…. You're not upset that Dickon and I…..' Mary asked.

He shook his head. 'Not at all. He is a good man, Mary. I have always thought so. Dickon saved my life, and I think in a way he saved yours. No, I have nothing but respect for him and I can see how you could fall in love with such a person…. I can understand how you could have had such strong feelings for each other.'

'We did.' She said softly, 'but he called it off.'

'Oh, I see...' Colin's face grew red as she confirmed his prediction. He seemed at a loss for words, then blurted out 'What happened?'

'He wrote a letter to me saying that we couldn't continue. I didn't understand, so I confronted him about it later at Misselthwaite – that day that William found me. He said he couldn't tell me, but at last he did. He said that there was someone else.'

'Mary, I'm sorry. Really I am. But are you so sure? I can't recall hearing anything about Dickon being with anyone else. From what I hear from Misselthwaite, he is still living with his family, and still involved in the carting business. I do know that Father has never given up hope that he will return to Misselthwaite to work, but with Dickon,' Colin shrugged, 'it's hard to say…. And in regards to Dickon saying something like that to you, I can't imagine him doing such a thing… it just seems so…. Out of character.'

'It did seem remarkably strange.' She murmured. 'I never understood why he wrote that letter. And then when I confronted him about it he seemed torn – as though there was something he wanted to tell me, but didn't.'

'I don't want to give you false hope, Mary, but did it not occur to you that there might be more to this situation than meets the eye?'

'But Colin, it's been so long since I've seen Dickon! What does it even matter anymore, anyway. I mean, look,' she held up her hand where her engagement ring sparkled. 'I'm with William now, anyway, and we're engaged to be married!'

Colin took her hand and gently lowered it down. 'All I care about is your happiness, Mary. I just want to make sure you are making the right decision.' He enfolded her in a hug, and she looked at him, confused. 'Just remember, if you ever want to talk about anything, I'll be here for you.'

* * *

Summer flew by in a series of social outings and before Mary knew it, the warm days were drawing to a close. Autumn was once again coming and Mary watched out of her window, noticing how the leaves on the trees which lined the busy street below her window were slowly turning red. She wondered, as she always did at this time of year, how the Secret Garden would be looking. Autumn was always a busy time in the garden, with the dying summer growth having to be cleared away in preparation for winter – and of course, for the following spring.

She tried to remember when she had last seen the Secret Garden in bloom. It had been in the summer of her sixteenth year, before she had departed for London. Two years! Had it really been that long? She suddenly felt an overwhelming desire for Misselthwaite, to go home. But not in winter, she didn't think she could bear to see the garden dead and dying again. But the following spring….. A frown came over her face. William had been making plans for them to be married the following summer, as it heralded the year he would finish his law degree. She felt a sinking feeling in her heart as she thought about returning to Misselthwaite with William by her side…. As Mrs Mary Montgomery.

'I'll make one final trip to Misselthwaite, in the spring.' She said to herself. 'Then I will say goodbye to the Secret Garden…. Forever.'


	19. Chapter 19

**Hi there, everyone! well, here it is - chapter 19 - and only three chapters to go until the end! wow! I've written most of chapter 20, so I'm hoping that I'll be able to post it relatively soon, too.  
**

**Please, please let me know what you think - it really makes my day and helps me realise where I've gone right/wrong, what could be improved upon, etc. You guys are the best, and I hope you enjoy the latest instalment of 'Beyond' - this chapter revolves mainly about Dickon - and shows how he is growing up, and his life is changing direction and focus. **

**xx Elyzia.**

* * *

**Chapter 19**

**Thwaite moor, August 1910 – May 1911**

The cottage was rather ramshackle, but it was home.

Dickon Sowerby, strode up to the front door of the house he owned (owned? Was it possible?) and shrugged off his work boots. He peeled off his socks, then shook his feet lazily, enjoying the feel of the warm sun against his skin. Stretching his arms out in front of him, he settled down on the ground in front of the cottage, admiring the view.

The cottage was surrounded by the wilderness of the moor. Dickon lazily stretched his legs out in front of him, put his hands above his head and leant back against the warm stone of the cottage's exterior, thinking back to the events that had led up to this moment.

* * *

**June, 1910**

Dickon found he was scarcely able to recall the Christmas of 1908. The year that he had once again seen Mary – and turned her away.

After the awful incident in the secret garden, when he had left her alone in the snow, Dickon had vowed to become a better man. He threw himself into his work with renewed vigour, and as a result, his Father's business had flourished. Over the next year, it became so widely successful, that Dickon had hired a small office in the centre of the village, from which business was conducted. Working alongside his Brother's he developed skills he had never even knew existed before. He had found himself to be a fast learner, much to his own personal amazement, and in no time at all was balancing the books and arranging business deals.

Then one day, late in August, Dickon Sowerby had had an unexpected visitor.

He barely recognised the tall older man when he came into the shop. He was busy tending to the books, at the end of a busy day. It was a hot, humid day in late summer, and Dickon was sitting at his desk with his shirt-sleeves rolled up. Every now and again he looked enviously out of the window, imagining how good it would feel to be outside. He was so deep in his daydream, that he barely noticed the tinkle of the bell as the door to the office opened.

Dickon looked up, and was immediately astonished to see Lord Archibald Craven entering the office.

'Oh... Mr... er, Lord Craven.' he began, rising to his feet. 'Ah... please... have a seat.' He quickly pulled an old wooden chair out from behind his desk, inwardly cursing himself that he could not offer anything more appropriate to the man's ranking.

'Thank you, my boy.' Lord Craven replied, slowly sitting down. Dickon hurried behind his desk once again, and sat down, wanting to appear professional.

'Can I get you anythin' to drink?' Dickon asked, switching from his broad Yorkshire to the manner of speaking that the man was more accustomed to. He gestured to the jug of water that sat on the end of his desk.

'No, no.' replied Lord Craven, waving his hands in front of him. 'No, I'll be fine, thank you. No, Mr Sowerby.'

'So how can I help you, Sir?' replied Dickon, settling down to business, although rather perplexed as to why Lord Craven would stop into his office himself, when he usually sent one of his servants to organise any arrangements that needed to be made. He scruitinised the older man closely. It had been almost two years since he had spoken to Colin's Father, and so much had happened during that time. Archibald Craven sat still on the chair, his hands clasping the cane in front of him. He looked wearier than when Dickon had last seen him, and the young man wondered as to what could be on his mind. Archibald Craven took a deep breath, and then finally replied.

'Well, it's a simple request, Mr Sowerby – but not one that you're expecting. No, this has nothing to do with carting arrangements.'

'I don't really see how I can help you.' Dickon replied, rather confused. 'If it's not about delivering anythin'.'

'No, it most definitely isn't about that.'

Dickon shrugged, and lifted up his hands. 'Then why have you come t' see me?'

Archibald Craven paused, as though running through what he was about to say in his mind. 'I came to see you, because I have a proposition for you.'

'A proposition?'

The older man nodded. 'Yes. I would like to ask you to come and work at Misselthwaite manor – as head gardener.'

Head Gardener! Dickon's thoughts spun wildly throughout his mind. When he had left Misselthwaite two years previously, Ben Weatherstaff had been Head Gardener. Surely nothing had happened to Ben? He looked up, obviously concerned.

'Wha' happened t' Ben?' he asked, slipping back into his Yorkshire dialect in his confusion.

'Oh Ben! No, no, nothing has happened to Ben. He has just decided that he's too old to do the job justice any more. No, Ben's retiring.

'Oh.' Dickon replied. 'But what about the other lads that work at Misselthwaite?'

Archibald looked Dickon firmly in the eye. 'Dickon, you and I both know that there is no-one at Misselthwaite – let alone this whole village who is such a natural when it comes to gardening. No one else who possesses your skill and knowledge – and your passion. Can you honestly sit here and tell me that my offer isn't remotely tempting? Can you really see youself still in this job in ten years time? Running a business, working in an office? Besides, I hear your Father has sufficiently recovered enough to be working again, and doesn't your younger brother also work here?'

'Lord Craven -' Dickon began.

'Please, don't call me that! Call me Archibald – or Mr Craven, if you must use some sort of title.'

'Mr Craven, I will have t' give what you're saying some serious thought.' he swallowed, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Misselthwaite manor! The thought of it stirred up all kinds of feelings within Dickon.

'I know it's a big decision to make, my boy, but I would very much like it if you could come back – I am willing to offer you a very generous salary. Please,' he stood up and held out his hand. Dickon grabbed hold of it, shaking it firmly. 'Don't make any decisions now, but when you feel ready, come up and see me at Misselthwaite, and we'll discuss things then.'

'Thank you, Mr Craven.' Dickon replied, firmly shaking the older man's hand.

* * *

Dickon spent the next week thinking things over, until at last he came to a decision. One warm morning, in early June, little over a week since Lord Craven's visit, Dickon saddled his horse, and rode over Missel moor, towards Misselthwaite manor.

He took a direction he had not taken before, riding slowly, thinking about what he was going to say to Lord Craven. He felt nervous, yet at the same time, relieved. He was going to tell the truth, at last. He was going to do what he should have done two years ago.

On his way to the manor, he passed a small uninhabited cottage that he had never seen before. He couldn't recall anyone living on that part of the moor, and in his curiousity he jumped down from his horse, and walked towards the cottage, to inspect it further. Dickon had realised a long time ago that he probably knew the moor better than anyone, yet there were always new places waiting to be discovered. It felt strange in a way, thinking that all the miles of land that surrounded Misselthwaite belonged to Lord Craven – Mary's uncle. Dickon could only imagine in wonder what it would be like to own so much land.

'Shall we have a look, eh Jenny?' he said aloud to his horse, pulling on the reins gently and bringing her to a stop. It was a small grey cottage, surrounded by a low brick wall. He dismounted from his horse, rather curious. It had a feel of neglect about it, as though it had not been used for some time. 'Lets go an' have a look, shall we?'

He tethered his horse near the front door, and proceeded to inspect the cottage. It was in a perfect location, nestled between two sloping hills, sheltered from the wind. Dickon walked to the front door, and knocked, feeling rather foolish. It was obvious the cottage had not been inhabited for some time, yet he did it out of respect. When no one answered, he cautiously pushed the door open, and went inside.

He was surprised to see how much light fell inside the cottage. He walked around slowly. It seemed much larger inside than it had done outside. Dickon found himself wondering what it would be like to come home to such a house – in the middle of the moor, far away from anyone, surrounded by nature.

He went back outside, this time paying more attention to the garden. Someone, he concluded, had obviously really loved the garden at some point, and he could see the remnants of a few plants growing here and there. Someone, who had loved roses. He paused, admiring a particularly pretty red rose that climbed up around one of the side windows of the cottage. Without knowing it, Dickon imagined working on the garden – pruning the roses, tidying it up, planting all sorts of things.

Work went on as normal over the next few weeks, yet Dickon found he couldn't get the cottage out of his mind. Then the seed of an idea began to form…. A very splendid idea indeed.

* * *

Dickon knocked firmly on the heavy oak door of the library.

'Come in.' he heard a voice call from within.

He entered slowly, glancing in to see Archibald Craven sitting at his desk, almost hidden behind a huge pile of books. Dickon smiled inwardly, although his heart was racing. It was comforting to see that some things never changed.

'I've come to see you about your offer.' began Dickon, walking towards the older man. Archibald Craven nodded slowly, and gestured to a chair that sat next to his desk. Dickon couldn't help but think back to a week ago, when he had been in the same position, but sitting where Lord Craven was now. He swallowed nervously, wondering if he could go through with what he was about to say.

'I think...' he paused. 'I would really like t' accept, Lord Craven, but there are some things I would like t' talk about wi' you, first.'

The older man's face broke out into a smile. 'You're accepting! My boy, my dear boy!' he went to take Dickon's hand in a congratulatory gesture. Dickon continued.

'Please... please hear me out. Wha' I've got t' say... I think you need to know before I can start working here... if you want me working here after I tell you, that is.'

Archibald Craven frowned. 'Nothing you could say to me would affect my decision, Dickon. But please know that you can speak honestly with me.'

Dickon felt faint, the moment had finally arrived. He looked down, unable to meet Colin's Father in the eye.

'It's just that... well... I think you should know that I was... that Mary – your neice and I were...' he trailled off, unable to continue.

'You and Mary?' Lord Craven whispered, grasping at Dickon's meaning. 'When was this – when did this happen?'

'Almost two years ago now.' Dickon replied. 'I thought that tha'... that you should know. I thought that... that I couldn't say yes to such an amazin' offer without telling you the truth... o' what had happened. I'm sorry, Mr Craven. I'll...' he looked up desperately, wishing for the older man to speak and end the deafening silence. 'I'll leave now, if you want me to.'

Archibald Craven remained silent, and did not reply. Dickon wished more than anything that he could take back what he had just said – of course, it was too late now.

'I'm... I'm sorry, Lord Craven.' he whispered.

He looked up, and followed the direction of Lord Craven's eyes. He was staring at a photograph that was sitting on his desk – that Dickon hadn't noticed before. It was of a young woman with large, laughing eyes – Colin's eyes. She bore a remarkable resemblance to Mary.

'You should not feel sorry.' Lord Craven said at last. 'It took me many years to realise this, but love is never something you should feel sorry for.'

'But she's ... she's your neice, an' I'm merely...' he shrugged sadly, 'the gardenin' boy.'

'You are much more than that, my lad.' Lord Craven said. 'You are giving, and kind, you have so many admirable qualities – you helped my son back to health – and that is something that I can never forget. No Dickon, I am not angry at you. I am surprised – in a way, yes, surprised. I suppose I have always been so engrossed in my own world that I sometimes neglect to notice what is going on around me.'

'You don't... you're not... angry?'

'No, I'm not angry. You helped save my son's life. You provided my neice with something that she grew to love and cherish. You helped her, too. She changed from a sickly child to one full of life, engergy, and love. No, I am not angry, and you have no need to feel sorry. I'm the one who needs to apologise – I should have never sent her away. I know that now.'

'How has she been?' Dickon couldn't help asking.

Lord Craven sighed heavily. 'Dickon, there is probably something you need to know. She is engaged to be married.'

'Oh.' Dickon felt his heart sink in his chest, unimaginable defeat filling his body. He supposed that after their final meeting, when he had left her in the garden, that she would eventually move on and find someone else – but he realised he had never really believed it. He had always thought that Mary would return to Misselthwaite one day and he would be able to tell her the truth at last.

'I'm sorry, Dickon – really, I am.'

'No, it's fine. It's how its supposed to be.' Dickon managed to say, trying to push his emotions under the surface, determined not to break down. 'She deserves to be with someone who will treat her right – no' someone who calls things off because -' he stopped, wondering if he'd said too much.

'You called things off?' Lord Craven repeated, puzzled. 'But you obviously loved her. Was it because you were worried about my disapproval?'

Dickon shook his head 'No, begging your pardon, Mr Craven – it was because... well, because I had no choice. I ... I had to.' he stopped once again, although he desperately wanted to tell the older man the truth.

'You seem like a strong young man, Dickon. I can't understand how you would feel as though you had no choice. What happened?'

Dickon squirmed uncomfortably, but then as he looked into the concerned eyes of the older man, he felt he could trust him. He cleared his throat, and began.

'It was Susie Birdwood – she works here at the manor. She found one of Mary's letters t' me and used it to blackmail me into calling things off. She said that she'd tell you everything if I didn't.'

'Why didn't the two of you come to me?' Archibald asked. 'Did you not think I'd be understanding?'

'Forgive me, Sir.' Dickon replied, hanging his head down. 'I thought tha' would have disapproved.'

'Oh Dickon!' Archibald cried. 'You saved my son's life. If anything, I owe you a life debt.' he looked at the younger man. 'My original offer still stands. I would like to offer you the position of head gardener – and to help you further your education.'

'Thank you, Sir.' Dickon said, the kind eyes of Colin's Father suddenly making him feel overly emotional, and before he knew what he was saying, he had blurted out 'But I have t' say, I'm hesitant to come an' work wi' her still here.'

'Don't worry, my boy. I think I can help you take care of that problem.' he took the younger man's hand. 'Welcome back, Dickon!'

'You said something about helping me wi' my education?' Dickon stated, thinking back to something Lord Craven had said. He knew that he had to move on from the subject of Mary. To think that she was engaged to be married! He knew he would have to consider the awful truth sooner or later, but for the moment he tried to focus elsewhere.

Archibald nodded seriously. 'Yes, being head gardener requires quite a bit of knowledge – which you possess, but you'll also have to begin to study botany and a little biology. I can help you with this if you like. As you can see, ' he said, sweeping his hands across the bookshelves behind them 'I have the resources.'

'Book learnin'.' Dickon said, in wonder. 'An t' think – I left school at th' age o' twelve!'

He looked up to see Lord Craven smiling broadly.

'I will expect to see you up here in my library – at least two nights a week, Dickon. I'm not saying it will be easy, but I believe that you will gain much from it.'

'There is something else, sir, if you wouldn't mind me askin'.' Dickon twisted his cap nervously in his hands. He had already told Mary's uncle about their relationship, Lord Craven had offered him a job, and to be his Tutor. Was it really the right time to bring the subject up? Something told Dickon that the time was right.

'Not at all – please, continue.'

'It's... you see... I would eventually like a place o' my own. It's not that I don't like the worker's cottage – I do. It's just that I've always imagined ownin' a wee place where I can go t' be alone.'

'I can understand that.' Archibald murmured. 'Somewhere where you can escape from the world.'

Dickon nodded. 'Especially when I know that Mar – Miss Lennox will be returning to Misselthwaite at times. I ... I think it would make it easier... I ... I'm sorry, but that's just how it is for me.'

He met Lord Craven's gaze, and it was soft and understanding. 'Yes, yes that sounds reasonable. Perhaps we can find somewhere in the village that would be suitable.'

'Actually,' Dickon began, 'I think I've found somewhere – a cottage, on the moor. It's on your land, Sir, an' I was thinkin' that perhaps I could use some o' my wages to buy it off you.'

'I know the cottage you mean. It hasn't been occupied for many years. I don't even know if it would still be habitable.' Archibald frowned.

'Eh! That's no problem. I can do it up all nice, no problem.' Dickon replied, enthusiastically. 'All it needs is a bit o' hard work put into it. An' a garden, o' course.' he smiled.

'Well, you certainly seem to have your heart set on this cottage, my lad. I don't see the problem in us coming to some sort of arrangement.'

Dickon felt as though he would leap into the air with happiness. Suddenly, life seemed to be looking up – more than it had for a long time. He took Lord Craven's hand, and shook it enthusiastically, slipping into broad Yorkshire in his excitement.

'Tha' will no' regret this, Sir. Thank you! Thank you!'

* * *

Dickon began his position as head gardener almost immediately, and two weeks later, he moved into his new home. He had spent every spare second he had, tidying it up, witnessing the change from deserted cottage to a place where he looked forward to spending his free time. Dickon was grateful for the late summer nights during those first few weeks in his new home, as it gave him time to complete his duties at the manor, and get his house in order.

When Dickon wasn't working in the gardens, or on his home, he was burying his nose in the books in Lord Craven's library – and receiving tutoring from the older man. Much to his surprise, Lord Craven found he enjoyed teaching Dickon – he had never tutored anyone before, and he found the lad a joy to be around. He was a very keen learner, and picked up new concepts very quickly, relating them to what he had seen and experienced in real life.

Dickon threw himself into his work, at first in an effort to try to push Mary from his mind. The news of her engagement – although not entirely unexpected – had devastated him. However, he found that he was able to focus on his new job and responsibilities and he discovered a new found maturity. He grew to accept the engagement. _I'm growing up_, he thought, in wonder.

At times, Dickon would accompany the other workers to the local inn, and sometimes he would dance with some of the local village girls. Of course, in his heart, none of them could compare with Mary and what they had together, but he realised that he was beginning to move on – and that perhaps it wasn't an entirely bad thing.

Dickon saw Susie Birdwood only once before she left Misselthwaite manor. It was on his first day of work, and he was heading up to Colin's Fathers study to receive his orders for the day. He was just rounding a corner when someone came flying around it at speed, almost knocking him over. He looked up to see Susie, her face red and blotchy.

'I've lost my place, Dickon.' she declared, before even greeting him. 'No thanks t' you o' course. I should have known that tha' would eventually tell him.'

'It's only what tha' deserves.' replied Dickon evenly, years of frustration rising to the surface. She had blackmailed him long enough, and no longer had any power over him. He felt a huge weight lift off him and he looked down at her almost in pity. Really, she was pitiful.

'Wha' I deserve!' she almost screeched. 'Well, I certainly don't think I deserve t' be thrown out an' given only a day's notice, an' not even a reference t' top it all off. Tha' hast done this t' me, Dickon, an I shall never forgive thee for it!' she reached her hand up to slap him, but he caught her wrist in his hand, and held it firmly.

'Tha' deserved far worse.' he began in a measured tone, 'an I think tha' should go as far away as tha' can before I change my mind. Wha' tha' did was unspeakable.Don't come near me again, Susie – an' don't you dare think about hurtin' me or my family.'

She shot him a hate filled glare, before tearing her arm from his grip and pounding furiously away. Dickon brought a hand up and wiped his brow, as he watched her go, a curious sense of happiness filling him.

* * *

**London, May 1911**

'What do you mean you're going away to Yorkshire without me!' William cried angrily, slamming the door shut behind him as he entered the room. Mary looked up in alarm from the book she was reading, and turned to face him, speaking softly in an effort to calm him down. She was not without practice. Ever since their engagement, she had seen a whole different side to William – one that she did not care much for.

'Will, please, calm down. If you come and sit down, we can talk about this.'

'Talk about it?! My fiancee is running off _alone_ to Yorkshire for a holiday! Have you any idea – any at all, of how this will make me look to my friends? What are they going to think? But of course, you haven't thought about it, have you?'

'I just need to make one last visit. To see my Uncle. He's like a Father to me. I'm sorry Will, but it's just something I'd prefer to do alone. Besides,' she smiled in an effort to downplay the situation, 'we'll be spending the rest of our lives together, so what's the hurry?'

Mary looked up and saw William standing next to the doorway. His face was red, enthused with anger. She felt a sort of desperation creeping up inside her. It seemed that William was always angry these days. It was a marked change from the young man who had made her laugh and kept her company in London all those years ago. It was like he was a different person.

Of course, she knew deep down inside that the drinking played a part. William didn't seem to drink any more than any other young man, but she knew that the pressure of his law study often drove him to seek relief in a bottle – and it worried her.

Not only that, but stories had circulated about him, which she had tried to ignore at first. William at parties, surrounded by loose women. She wondered if this was something that all wives had to endure of their husbands?

'Don't try and change the subject, Mary.' he interjected. 'The whole point is that you seem to think it is perfectly reasonable to go off and leave your fiancée for almost a whole month! And I'm sorry, but I simply cannot allow you to do that.'

'What do you mean _"you can't allow me?"_ Mary demanded, feeling her ire rise. After all, she was not someone's property. 'What gives you the right to tell me what I can and cannot do?'

'Because,' William stated in a deadly voice 'I will be your husband in two month's time. And that title gives me certain... rights and privileges.'

'You're not my husband, yet.' she whispered. 'And until you are I think I am free to do as I please.'

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she felt a sharp sting on the side of her face. She looked up in horror. He had struck her! She brought her hand up to her cheek, feeling the sting that burned there.

'Don't go telling me what I should be doing.' he stated. 'I will not let a woman tell me what to do.'

She sat in shock, watching him, paralysed with fear that he might hit her again.

'I need to... I need to think about things, Will.'

'Yes.' he nodded. 'You do that. Have your holiday at your _beloved_ Misselthwaite.' he said sarcastically. 'I expect you back no later than June.'

* * *

_To think that it has been three years since I was last here in summer,_ thought Mary as the carriage made its way up to Misselthwaite manor. _How could I have stayed away for so long? _She felt tears mist up in her eyes as she watched the moor flying past. _I've come home_, the young woman thought, knowing that whatever happened in the future, at least she would get to see Misselthwaite – and those she held dear to her heart, one final time


	20. Chapter 20

**This is the third to last chapter of 'Beyond the Secret Garden', and one of the more difficult chapters to write. Reunion scenes are never easy, and there have been a lot of loose ends to tie up, too!  
**

**I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and please leave a review - reviews are the only reward I get for writing this!**

**xxx Elyzia**

* * *

**Chapter 20:**

**Misselthwaite Manor, May 1911**

Mary Lennox opened her eyes to the sun streaming in through the open window of her bedroom. She walked over, still clad in her nightgown, and opened the window. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, letting the sounds and scents of the moor assault her senses.

'This is it. I'm home.' She whispered.

She had left London the morning following her argument with William. The carriage had arrived early, and had bore her away, carrying her through the relatively empty streets to Kings Cross station. The relief that had flowed through her had been incredible, and she wondered why she had put off returning to Yorkshire for so long. Of course, deep down inside she knew the reason – Yorkshire held Misselthwaite, and Dickon.

She still felt strangely sad and hollow when she thought about Dickon. It had been so strange, seeing him that final time, when she had last been home. It was almost like he was a different person. She could barely recall the months that followed. She had stopped eating, had slept a lot, and didn't want to speak to anyone. No one had known what was wrong, or how to proceed, but gradually, as the weather grew warmer once again, she felt herself begin to come alive. She had begun to put things behind her, to move on – or so she thought.

Accepting William's marriage proposal had felt like a natural progression in their relationship. Although she knew that she could never love him with the same intensity that she had felt for Dickon, they shared a connection through their experiences and background. She had thought that William was a good man, likeable, and honest. It was only once they were engaged that she had noticed his behaviour start to change.

It was merely little things at first – he would appear short tempered at times, but she had tried to brush it off, reminding herself that studying to be a Lawyer was very demanding and stressful. He began to drink more, or perhaps she had merely began noticing – and he would often become intoxicated at the parties and social events they attended. She told herself that it was just a phase he was going through, and that he would eventually snap out of it. Looking back, she realised that she had made many excuses for his behaviour – and that his behaviour was only growing worse. She thought back to the last time she had seen him in London, and subconsciously brought her hand up to her cheek to where he had struck her.

Now that she was back at Misselthwaite, could she really bring herself to return to London, and to William? Suddenly, the future that she had so carefully planned, was no longer certain. She felt as though she had reached a turning point in the road - and she wasn't sure which direction she should take.

_I won't think about that now,_ she decided, walking over to her wardrobe and searching through it. _I'll focus on seeing the gardens – and of enjoying my time here. I won't think about William or London until I have to._

Her wardrobe had not been touched since she was last at Misselthwaite, and she gave a small squeal of delight to find that the wardrobe still housed all her old dresses – those she had worn when she was so happy and carefree. She pulled out an old white one – a printed cotton – and suddenly thought it more beautiful than anything she had ever worn while in London. She ran her fingers carefully over the worn fabric, feeling the rough feel beneath her fingertips. She remembered the last time she had worn that dress. It had been around three years earlier, before she had departed for London. _I wonder if it still fits_, she thought to herself, feeling an idea building within her mind.

She shrugged off her nightgown, and hastily did up her stays. She picked up the dress, handling it like it was a gown fit for a queen, and slowly shrugged it over her shoulders. She was delighted to find that it still fitted perfectly. She tied the bow at the back of the gown, and then stepped over to the mirror to regard her appearance.

A young girl stood before her, one that reminded her of who she had once been. She smiled, and pulled her hair down in front of her shoulders, where it fell in long waves. She suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia sweep over her, and an acute feeling of what she could only describe as homesickness - a longing to return to the days that she had left behind her - when she was so young and naive, when she was in love and had no reason to fear for the future.

_I'll wear this dress today_, she decided, not caring what anyone thought. _And I'll wear my hair down, too. Perhaps it will help me remember what things used to be like, and how I used to feel? maybe it will help me dispel some of the emptiness I feel inside?  
_

* * *

She walked down the stone steps from the entrance to the manor, taking in everything around her as she went. She walked quickly, with ease, breathing in the warm summer air of the morning. It was already shaping up to be a hot day. As she looked around her, she was astonished to find that the gardens were more immaculate than she had ever remembered them being before. The hedges were trimmed and neat, the rows of flowers freshly weeded, and everything was healthy and teeming with spring growth. _Old Ben has_ _certainly worked hard this year_, she thought approvingly.

She decided to go through each garden, in turn, and eventually end her tour with the Secret Garden. After all, it was the place that held the most emotion for her, the one place that she desired to see the most, yet felt hesitant about at the same time. As she made her way slowly through the kitchen gardens she noticed a young man tending to a vegetable patch.

'The gardens really are lovely these days.' She called out, smiling.

'Eh! It's all the work o' th' head gardener.' The lad replied, proudly. 'He's verra organized, tha's for sure.'

'Old Ben Weatherstaff?' she made a mock frown. 'Surely not!'

'Eh no Miss! No, old Ben has been retired now over a year. We have a new head o' gardenin' now – an he's a bit younger than old Ben.' the lad smiled. 'Now if tha' will please excuse me Miss, I'd best get on wi' what I'm doin'. No' that he'll be angry wi' me, he is fair if he is anythin'.'

'Where is he – this new head gardener?' she asked, remembering how Ben had always liked to keep an eye on the under gardeners. 'Doesn't he supervise you while you work?'

'No, no, not all th' time. No… he prefers to spend time tendin' to certain gardens hi'self – like tha' one further down th' path, behind the closed door.'

'What garden?' she frowned. 'There are no other gardens beyond here.'

'Beg tha' pardon, Miss. I've never been there myself. He won't let any o' us go in. There was a name he had for it,' the young lad scratched his head. 'I think he called it somethin' like '_Th' Secret Garden'_.'

Mary frowned. She couldn't imagine the Misselthwaite gardens without Ben Weatherstaff tending them – and who was this new gardener to invade her garden and tend it? She strode off angrily, determined to catch him out and give him a piece of her mind. She would put him in his place and let him know that the Secret Garden was not a place that was open to everybody! _He'll be sorry once I've spoken to him,_ she thought grimly as she hurried towards the door in the ivy.

Her legs carried her quickly down the path, and when she reached the door to the Secret Garden, she pushed it open and went inside, her eyes searching for the man who dared to invade her sanctuary. She walked down the steps that led into the garden, then looked about her for the first time.

It was immaculate. Whoever had been looking after it had kept it very well maintained. She felt her eyes welling up with tears, and a lump forming in her throat. She slowed down, looking about her constantly. She could see bluebells, and snowdrops, empress of india lilies lining the path leading down to the garden - she looked up towards the old oak tree that held the swing to see it covered in hundreds of roses. Subconsciously, she brought a hand up to her mouth. She walked slowly, the Head Gardener forgotten for a few seconds as she took in the beauty of her surroundings.

'Oh how lovely it is!' she gasped.

It was not just the palette of colours that filled her eyes, but the smell of growing things. The light dreamy scent of lilies, the heady smell of the roses, and the heavy scent of Jasmine, that carried towards her on the warm breeze. For a few seconds it felt as though she had stepped back in time to when she was a child, the magic of the garden bringing her alive once again.

Her ears pricked up as she heard a slight whistle coming from the other side of the garden, beyond the shrubs that lined the path. She moved slowly towards the sound, not understanding why it sounded so familiar to her, why the sound of it carried on the warm breeze had such a moving effect.

She rounded a corner, and stopped still. A tall, well built young man was standing on the other side of the garden, leaning on a spade. She felt an unexpected flush come to her cheeks. She felt a flush come to her cheeks. She hadn't expected the new head gardener to be so _young_. She moved closer, feeling a dawning realization build. The form of the man seemed so familiar – the relaxed way he stood, the slightly untidy dark brown hair. She shook her head. _No, it couldn't be._ She took another step closer, then another. He had rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, and his arms were lightly tanned, and she could see the sinewy muscle that lay beneath.

_It can't be, it just can't be_, she thought, then at last, he turned around.

It was Dickon.

'Oh!' she managed to gasp, and she felt her hand fly to her throat. She stopped still, not knowing what to do – whether to proceed forward, or to turn and run. She felt frozen, unable to move, her feet rooted to the spot. She searched his face – how much he had changed in the past three years – his jaw was broader now, the crinkles around his eyes a little deeper, but it was him. It was Dickon.

Dickon's eyes flew open in shock as he saw her, but he quickly composed himself. He moved towards her, stretching out his arm.

'Mary', he began.

She felt her heart pounding so furiously in her chest that she wouldn't have been surprised if Dickon could hear it from where he was standing. It seemed to drown out everything else, and the world closed in around her. She had no idea what to say to him.

'Oh! I'm sorry,' she blurted out in a rush ' I didn't expect to see you here. I'm….. I'm looking for the head gardener.'

Dickon looked up at her as she said the words 'head gardener' and suddenly it all made sense. Dickon was here, in the Secret Garden because he was the head gardener. She felt her blush deepen in her embarrassment. Dickon smiled slightly, before replying:

'I …. I think you've found him….. that would be me.'

There was something different about the way he spoke. She tilted her head, trying to think of what it was. Then it dawned on her – his Yorkshire accent wasn't as broad! 'Oh...I see.' She said, not knowing what else to say, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her.

They stood still, looking at each other, and Mary saw the corners of Dickon's mouth begin to twitch.

'No' quite who you expected t' see, I take it?'

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she felt as though she might faint. She took a couple of paces backwards.

'No... I thought... I mean,' she stammered, not knowing what to say. Finally, she found her voice 'I'm...I'm sorry for bothering you. I should go.'

'Eh! No!' he stepped forward and touched her softly on the arm. 'Please, stay.' He looked into her eyes, and she tried to look away. 'Please don't go.'

The last time she had stood before Dickon it had been over two years ago, when they had parted ways._ 'Is there someone else?_' she had asked him, watching his expression become pained as he told her the truth. _He must be married by now_, she thought bitterly, her eyes glancing down to his left hand to look for a wedding ring. She didn't see one there, but that didn't mean anything.

Yet he still had the power to make her feel faint whenever she was around him, to make her feel as though she wanted to laugh for joy, and cry, all at the same time. Her skin tingled slightly, where he had touched her arm, and why was it that she wanted more than anything to touch him back? She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts that dwelled there, that pushed towards the surface. Of course there was no other answer, of course she would stay.

'I won't go.' she whispered.

'Thank you.' Dickon replied in a hushed voice. 'I would verra much like it if you stayed.'

They stood still, looking at each other uncertainly, unsure of how to proceed. Mary brought her eyes up to Dickon's face, observing him carefully. He seemed to be struggling with something, as though he had something he wanted to say to her, yet couldn't bring himself to say it. Finally she decided to speak, to break the silence that had descended upon them. She cleared her throat, hoping that she would sound confident when she spoke, not stutter and pause like some gibbering idiot.

'You're... you're back at Misselthwaite.' she began, chastising herself inwardly for stating the obvious. 'I had no idea you were back – nobody told me. Are you... are you happy to be back, Dickon?'

'Aye, I am. I'm verra happy.' he replied. He gestured around the garden. 'There is no where in the world I'd rather be than here.'

'So much has happened since I left.' she continued. 'I feel as though I've been away forever. When I was in London, I thought about Misselthwaite and the Secret Garden all the time. I so wanted to be home, and now that I am...' she shrugged, and sighed, 'it feels like so much has changed. I feel as though...'

'Go on.' whispered Dickon, moving closer.

'I feel as though perhaps I can never quite _"come home"_ again. Do you understand what I mean, Dickon?'

She hadn't expected to speak so frankly, but the magic of the place was overwhelming. She looked about her, at all the luscious spring growth, at the tall ivy covered walls that hid them from the outside world. Somehow, it seemed appropriate to be speaking honestly within the Secret Garden.

'I do know what you mean.' Dickon replied, his mouth turned down into a small, sad smile. 'That you feel as though you can never return to that place within yourself.'

'That place where everything feels good and right.' Mary added. 'That place in your mind where you feel whole.'

'Aye.'

'Yet in here... in here I feel more "myself" than when I'm anywhere else. Isn't that strange?'

'It's not strange,' he spoke. 'It's th' magic. There always was something about this place.'

'It feels so strange to be speaking to you again.' she said, the words coming easier now. 'I don't know how I feel – when I last saw you... it was so ... so hard. For so long I imagined how things would be when we met again... and now we have, and it almost feels like – like the last two years never happened. I ... I really wish that -' she stopped. 'I'm sorry, I've said too much.'

_Dickon must think I'm absolutely mad,_ she thought, a blush rising to her cheeks._ I shouldn't be doing this, standing here, talking to him like this – like nothing has changed between us. What must he think of me?_

'I'm sorry, Dickon, but I ... I have to leave.'

She turned and ran from him, trying to block out his voice as he cried 'Mary! Wait!'. She burst through the entrance to the Secret Garden, and pelted down the path, not looking behind her.

* * *

'You didn't tell me that you had hired Dickon as Head Gardener.' Mary began, over breakfast later that morning.

Her Uncle looked up, and smiled. 'I wanted to surprise you when you came home. I knew that the two of you were always close friends. I take it you've seen the lad, then?'

'Yes.' she nodded her head and looked away, not wanting her Uncle to see the truth that lay in her eyes. 'I bumped into him this morning. In the Secret Garden.'

Archibald Craven nodded. 'I do believe he spends most of his spare time in there – when he isn't performing his other duties, or attending his lessons.'

'Lessons?' Mary said, barely believing what she was hearing. 'Dickon?'

'Yes.' her Uncle replied simply. 'I've been tutoring him most evenings since he took up the position. I thought it was about time that young man received a proper education, and it will be useful for his position. I must say, he's proved to be extremely bright and insightful so far.'

Dickon, taking lessons from her Uncle? she could barely contain her shock. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She knew a little about the duties and responsibilities that belonged to the head gardener - and that they involved extensive knowledge of plants, shrubs, and landscaping.

'That's wonderful – I'm so pleased.'

'So I take it it was a surprise to see him in the Secret Garden?'

Mary narrowed her eyes at her Uncle's curious look in her direction.

'Yes, it was.'

'But a pleasant surprise?'

She cocked her head to one side. Just what was her Uncle implying?

'Yes, it was. It was good to see Dickon again.'

* * *

Mary spent the next few days slipping back into the quiet, but reliable routine of life at the manor. She made an effort to busy herself in the day to day activities of the place, and tried to avoid the Secret Garden – and Dickon. She couldn't bring herself to speak to him again. She felt completely conflicted over her feelings for him. She knew that she shouldn't be speaking to him – that she was an engaged woman, and that Dickon had someone he was sharing his life with. Yet, on the other hand she couldn't stop thinking about him, replaying their reunion over and over in her mind. Going over all the little details – the way he spoke, his self-assuredness, his confidence, the maturity of his looks. She looked guiltily at the engagement ring that lay on her dressing table. She had taken it off on the morning of her second day at Misselthwaite manor. _I'll put it on again as soon as I have returned to London, she told herself. Besides, it would probably just get lost of damaged if I wear it outside in the garden. _

The thought of returning to London left a feeling of distaste within her mind, and she pushed her thoughts away from it. _It will be different when I return_, she told herself. _William will be pleased to see me, we'll get married... and I will finally be able to put all of this behind me._

Yet try as she might, she couldn't get the image of the broad shouldered young man out of her mind, the young man who was so at ease among nature, who leaned on his spade and waited for her, in the Secret Garden.

* * *

The days grew longer, and warmer, and Mary marvelled at the way the spring season unfolded. The evenings continued to grow longer and lighter, and Mary would often take a walk through the grounds of the manor, after dining with her Uncle. She found that she enjoyed the solace that the quiet of the evening provided, and used the time alone to think things over, turning her thoughts inward from the outside world.

One evening, around a week after she arrived back at Misselthaite, she once again found herself walking down the path of the long walk.

She was breathing deeply, inhaling the scent of spring, and of the late evening. She could smell the scent of freshly mowed grass, of budding trees, the smell of the heather that carried from the moor. Every so often she would pause, and close her eyes, remembering how Colin had said that being outside, in nature, made him feel as though he could live forever and ever and ever. Breathing in the heady scent of spring, Mary realised that she finally understood why Colin had felt that way, and said those words.

Yet there was still a strange little pang in her heart, which she tried to push down below the surface of her thoughts.

The cracking of twigs alerted her to the sound of someone coming up to her, and she opened her eyes. She saw a solitary figure approaching, through the trees. She looked carefully, her heart beginning to pound in her chest as she recognised Dickon coming towards her.

'Mary,' he called out, as he drew nearer to her. She turned and made to walk away, hoping to make as though she hadn't seen him. 'Will tha' not wait and speak wi' me?'

She stopped still at the pleading tone in his voice. She turned around again, and watched as he came towards her, through the dim evening light.

'There's something I'd like t' talk to thee about.' he said, as he walked towards her. 'Will tha' not hear me out?'

Her heart sank. She knew it. Dickon was going to tell her that he was engaged. _I'll leave_ _tomorrow,_ she thought wildly, realising suddenly that she couldn't bear the thought of Dickon being with anyone else.

'There's something I have to tell thee – an' I think the time is right.' Dickon added, reaching her, yet standing back slightly. He seemed agitated, the confidence that she had witnessed earlier that week having slipped away. _He must be nervous about telling me_, she concluded, feeling desolation wash over her.

'You don't need to tell me. I know.' she blurted out, unable to wait. 'You're engaged to be married – that's it, isn't it?'

Dickon seemed to do a double take. 'Eh! no... no' engaged. Tha' canna be serious!' he exclaimed, slipping into broad Yorkshire in his astonishment.

Dickon wasn't engaged! Hope surged wildly in Mary's chest.

'You're... you're not?' she replied, mystified.

'No... no' at all. Actually,' he paused briefly, as though searching for the right words, 'It almost relates to what I wanted t' talk to you about.'

'Shall we sit down?' she asked, gesturing to a smooth patch of grass that lay behind them, anxious to hear what he had to say. They sat down, in the shade of one of the many large oak trees that lined the slope to the long walk. The orange glow from the setting sun lay around them, in patterns through the leaves of the tree. Dickon looked at her anxiously.

'Please... hear me out before you judge me, Mary. It's somethin' I should have told thee a long time ago.'

'Go on, I'm listening.' she reached over, not knowing how she dared to, touching his arm gently, prompting him to begin.

'The truth is... well, it all comes down to th' truth, really. I ... I wasn't being honest with you that day in the garden – that day you asked me if there was someone else, an I said there was. That wasn't ... that wasn't the truth, Mary. You have to believe me. There was no one else. There never has been.'

'What!' she exclaimed, completely bewildered, remembering the look in Dickon's eyes, the way he had said that there was someone else, the conflicting emotion. Suddenly, it all made sense. 'But Dickon, why?'

'There has only ever been you.' he continued. 'Only you. I feel ashamed at what I did. How I hurt you – first with that letter, and then by lying to you.' he sighed deeply, leaning down to rest his elbows on his knees. Mary listened, hanging on his every word, willing him to continue.

'It was a tricky situation – there was... a girl who had taken a liking to me. I found her waitin' for me, one night in my room. She had found one of your letters to me – an she told me that I had to end it with you – else she would take the letter to Mr Craven. I knew she meant it. But no' only that... she said... she said tha' you would be better off without me, that you deserved someone from '_your own folk_'. That was how she put it, and it got me thinkin' that perhaps, that perhaps we really were different – an that I wouldn't be able to give you what you needed. Dickon looked away. 'So I wrote th' letter.'

Suddenly, it all made sense. Mary leant back on the grass, trying to take in everything Dickon had revealed to her. Never in a million years would she have expected him to give such a confession. Everything was falling into place – the letter, Dickon's odd behaviour when they had last met, his reluctance to speak to her.

'Oh Dickon.' she said, not knowing what else to say.

'I'm so sorry Mary. An perhaps she was right. You deserve someone who will treat you right – how you deserve – no' lie to you like I did.'

'I burnt that letter..' she said, thinking out loud. 'I read it once, then couldn't bear to see those words again.'

'Tha' did?' Dickon said, ruefully. 'I'm glad. To be honest, it was an awful letter. Full o' lies. I always hoped that I would get a chance t' explain – t' have the truth come out.'

'I hate lying.' Mary said, once again speaking the words that came into her mind. 'I can't bear it.'

'I don't want to lie t' thee any longer. An I just want t' say that I'm sorry, Mary, for everythin' that has happened. All I ever wanted... was t' be wi' you. But I suppose... it wasn't to be.'

'I'm engaged.' Mary blurted out. 'I took the ring off the day after I saw you in the Secret Garden. I didn't realise it then, but I know it now. There's something I need to tell you and I don't know if I should, but...' her voice trailled off, and she looked up to see Dickon staring back at her intently, hanging on her every word. She took a deep breath before proceeding.

'I'm not in love with him, Dickon, I'm...I'm in love with you.'

She looked into his eyes as she spoke, and saw them fill with surprise, and then tenderness. He reached over and stroked her face, as he had done so many times before. She felt her eyes fill with tears that she struggled to blink away.

'I've always loved you.' she whispered, and she felt Dickon's fingertips wipe her tears away.

She reached out and took his hands in hers, feeling the rough texture against her skin. She moved closer towards him, the moment stretching out in front of them, neither of them speaking. She placed his hands around her waist, and he looked at her uncertainly, his eyes shining with emotion. She nodded, trying to tell him that it was fine, that she wanted him to, that nothing else mattered.

'Mary, I ... I ...' he began.

'None of that matters now, just this.' she whispered, before bringing her lips to his.

The warm feel of him brought her home instantly. She could feel Dickon's hands around her waist, the feel of his mouth against hers, kissing her softly, slowly, as though she were something precious. She wrapped her arms around his warm body, drawing him nearer towards her. Dickon responded by increasing the intensity of the kiss, and he gently pushed her back, until she was laying on the warm grass. Tears ran down her cheeks in rivulets as she kissed Dickon over and over.

'You came back t' me.' he said softly, in awe, looking down at her face. 'I wanted thee for so long. I never thought I'd see you again.'

'You're all I've ever wanted.' she replied, and Dickon brushed away her tears gently. 'Only you - no other.'

'Oh Mary...' he began, before leaning down and once again placing his lips upon her. This time the kiss was firmer, deeper than before. She responded by kissing him back just as passionately, as though she never wanted to let him go.

* * *

That night, Mary sat alone at her writing desk in her room, staring at a piece of paper illuminated by candle-light. She sighed, picked up her pen, and began to write.

_'Dear Will_,' Mary wrote.

_'I cannot pretend any longer. I feel that it would be against my better judgement and against what is best for you, if we do marry. Please accept my sincerest apologies, but I cannot help the way I feel. Yes, Will, there is someone else. I suppose I never could have been completely yours._

_I really tried to love you, and I suppose in my own way I do. But I don't love you enough to miss you, Will. I love you as a friend, and I feel it would be wrong to marry for the reason alone that we have a similar background and have shared similar experiences. It wouldn't be fair to you, and it certainly wouldn't be fair to me. _

_I have decided to remain at Misselthwaite, and not return to London. Will, all I can say that I am so sorry, but that it just wasn't meant to be between us. I know in my heart that someday, you will find the right person for you too. _

_Your friend, _

_Mary._

* * *

'I received a letter today.' Archibald Craven said, a few nights later when they were seated for dinner. 'It was from a young man called William Montgomery.' Her uncle's eyes sparkled. 'I believe you know him?'

'W-William?' Mary stuttered, almost choking on a mouthful of wine. 'Wh- what did he want?'

'Oh, only to let me know that you'd apparently called your engagement off. And that he thought there was someone else – someone at Misselthwaite who had taken your affections.'

'He said that?' she said, startled.

'This doesn't have anything to do with the new Head Gardener now, does it?'

She watched her Uncle's face carefully. He did not appear to be showing any malice. In fact, was it just her imagination, or could she detect what appeared to be a twinkle in his eye?

Her conversation with Dickon earlier that week came rushing back to her.

_I always hoped that I would get a chance t' explain – t' have the truth come out.'_

_'I hate lying.'_ She had replied._ 'I can't bear it.'_

_He was right,_ she thought. _The truth always does come out, and it is much better to tell the truth first up without lying about it. I'm going to be honest with Uncle Archie now, I love him and he deserves to know. Dickon would want me to tell him – I know it._

'There is no other answer I can give you, Uncle Archie except yes. Yes it does. It has everything to do with him. I'm... I'm in love with him, Uncle Archie. I'm in love with Dickon - and he, ' she swallowed nervously. 'He loves me.'

'You love him.' he whispered. 'You spoke to him – and he to you? Thank god... thank god...'

'Did you know about this the whole time?' she asked, completely bewildered. 'I would have thought that... that you would have disapproved, sent me away for good – so I could never see him again... but somehow you...' she shook her head, trying to work things out. 'You knew about us all that time?'

Archibald smiled gently and took her hand. 'I've known since Dickon told me – he told me when he decided to accept the job as Head Gardener. He wanted me to know.'

'And you don't mind,' Mary continued, incredulous 'That I called off my engagement with William?'

'Mary... William was an intelligent man, with many good qualities. But he wasn't the right match for you – and I think you've known that for a long time.'

'Oh Uncle Archie!' she cried, tears of happiness and gratitude filling her eyes. She got up and went to her Uncle, to the man who had cared for her like a Father. She put her arms around him and leant her head on his chest, surprised when he reciprocated the gesture. 'Thank you, Uncle Archie, thank you.'

* * *

'I told Uncle Archie.' Mary stated simply, the next day, as she was digging next to Dickon in the garden. 'And he gave me his approval! I could hardly believe it!'

Dickon chuckled gently. 'Not quite the reaction tha' hoped for?'

She shook her head, still trying to process what had happened. 'Not at all.' she blushed. 'I had thought that he would disapprove... I'm sorry, Dickon, but it's the truth. I thought he would have disapproved of us being together.'

Dickon smiled. 'Because I'm a – wha' did Colin used t' call me "A common cottage boy off the moor"?'

She smiled back at him. 'A moor boy whom I happen to be madly in love with.'

'Is that a fact?' Dickon teased.

She leant over and kissed him. 'It is.'

'Well,' Dickon continued. 'It just goes to show what a kind and generous man your Uncle is - and how much he cares for you. I know for a fact that he would never want t' see you in a loveless marriage.'

She nodded. 'I know it, too. And it's not going to happen.'

They looked at each other intently, and Dickon appeared to be about to say something, but then thought better of it.

'I ... I would like t' take thee somewhere, t'morrow.' Dickon began. 'Only if you want to o' course. It's somewhere tha' is special to me.'

'Of course,' she replied, feeling a queer sense of excitement beginning to build. 'Of course I'll go with you. But Dickon, where will you be taking me?'

'You'll find out.' he replied, playfully hitting her arm. 'Just be patient!'

'Ooh Dickon!' she said in exasperation. 'You know I was never any good at doing that!'

'Just wait.' he replied, smiling, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her towards him. 'All good things take time.'

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

**I can hardly believe that this story is finished! Finally! You can consider this the end, if you wish - or you can read Chapter 22 as well, which is essentially a short epilogue (for those who requested it).  
**

**I started this off, knowing full well that it was going to be a big project, but no idea it would span over 20 chapters! thank you for sticking with it for long, and a big thank you needs to go to all of those that gave me feedback on it as it went along - it means more than I can say...**

**Just to be safe, this chapter is rated M. So read at your own risk!**

**Thanks guys, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

**xxxx Elyzia.**

**

* * *

****Chapter 21:**

**Yorkshire, Summer 1911**

Dickon awoke early, rising well before dawn, listening to the familiar sounds of the moor and the creatures that lived upon it. Dawn had always been his favourite time of the day, for as long as he could remember – ever since he was a small boy. He loved the feeling of being the only person in the world, the feeling that he was alive to witness the world waking up. He loved watching the colours in the sky gradually changing with the coming day – the way the darkness would gradually fade away into streaks of pink and purple.

He turned his mind back to the events of the past couple of weeks – of Mary's return, of their reunion, of being finally able to tell her the truth. The truth had set him free, and Dickon felt as though his soul had been considerably lightened in the process.

_I should never have lied to her,_ he realized. _I know that now. _

He thought about how she had called off her engagement to the young man in London, and he couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He knew that he had had a major part to play in her decision, and part of him couldn't help but wonder if he was being selfish in wanting her in his life. Yet he felt powerless over his feelings. He wanted her so badly, so desperately. She fulfilled him, completed him, made him whole.

_I love her like I've never loved anyone else, and I'm going to prove to her that I'm worthy of her affections. _

Absently, he fingered the band of gold that lay in his pocket, and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

* * *

Neither of them knew it, but both awoke at the same time that bright summer morning.

Mary drowsily lifted her head off the pillow. She had sunk into a deep sleep that night, and had slept more soundly than she had in years. She awoke with a smile upon her face. She was home, it was going to be a beautiful summer day, and she was going to spend the day with Dickon.

She recalled their afternoon in the garden together, the previous day. How he had made her laugh and smile. The warmth of his hands, his blue eyes and the way they sparkled. She recalled being impressed at how strong he had become, and how she had blushed when he had caught her watching him, the book she had been supposedly reading, laying discarded in her lap. His laughter was bright and energetic, and made her feel warm deep down inside. Did he realise what effect he had on her?

She knew her future was uncertain. Having called off her engagement to William, there was now no reason to return to London. Furthermore, she knew now that London was not her home and never had been. _This is my home, she thought_, feeling a calm sense of knowing descend over her. _Yorkshire, Misselthwaite. Surrounded by the people I love and who love me. I am home and I will not be leaving ever again._

Dickon had asked her to meet him at the stables that morning. He was exempt from duty for the day, and he had asked her if she would accompany him somewhere that was special to him. She felt herself quivering with excitement, wondering where they would be going – and what he was going to show her?

A ride on the moors, she thought, imagining the feel of the warm wind through her hair. How she would love to feel the soft breeze against her skin! She looked down at her dress, and suddenly a plan came to mind. Quickly, she made her way to Colin's bedroom.

* * *

She found him in the stables, saddling up two of the horses.

She tried to creep up quietly behind him, watch him. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt, roughly tucked in to the back of his trousers, his deeply tanned arms appearing strong, as he lifted a saddle down from the rack above him. She stood mesmerised, feeling content just watching him work.

'So I hope you've come dressed for a ride, Miss Mary.' Dickon said easily, without turning around. She scowled inwardly. He always seemed to hear her coming up behind him, and she was never able to surprise him. 'I thought you might like t' ride -' he turned around as he spoke, stopping dead when he saw her. 'Miss – Miss Mary! Wha' is tha' wearin'?' he exclaimed in astonishment.

His reaction was even better than what she had imagined. She smiled, and dipped a curtsey.

'Ta da!'

Her grin broadened as she saw a confused expression pass over Dickon's face.

'But you're wearin'... you're wearin' men's trousers!'

'Yes I am. I found them in Colin's wardrobe, and thought they would be much more suitable for riding. Why, don't you like me in them?'

She found herself enjoyed to see his composure slip away, and a flush spread over his face. 'It's not that... it's just that, well, I don't think I've ever seen a woman wearin' men's trousers before... but it's not that I don't like them on thee.'

'Well if you didn't like them, I would still wear them.' she said contrarily, arching her eyebrow.

'I'm sure tha' would.' Dickon replied, smiling. 'My contrary wee lass.'

Dickon moved closer to Mary, until his hands found her waist. He felt her arms reach up around his shoulders and pull his closer to her. It was true, he had never seen a woman donning men's attire, but inwardly he felt pleased with her surprise. The trousers were snug on her, and emphasised her figure. He ran his hands over the soft fabric, before reaching down and kissing her.

She kissed him back, savouring the feel of his warm mouth on hers, the world around them slipping away until it was just her and Dickon. She felt her knees weaken, and a tingling sensation spread across her body. His hands grasped her buttocks, and he pulled her towards him.

The smell of the stables – of fresh hay, of horses, assaulted her senses. But more than that, was the scent of Dickon – masculine and intoxicating – she breathed it in as she kissed him, over and over again.

Finally they broke apart. She looked up to see Dickon looking as flushed as she felt.

'I suppose we should get going?' she suggested, trying to convince her body that it was the right thing to do.

'Aye, I guess.' Dickon seemed lost for words, and she felt a similar sensation pass over her, as her eyes met his, the memory of their kiss still lingering on her mind. _There will be plenty of time for_ _that later_, she told herself, feeling anticipation build. They were about to head out into the moors, where they would be completely alone... she shuddered with excitement and nervousness, almost simultaneously.

* * *

They rode out together from the stables, two tiny specks on the landscape, against a sea of pink heather, under the vast blue sky. Mary couldn't remember ever feeling so happy, so light, as if she could just close her eyes and soar towards the heavens. The air was fresh around her, contrasting so sharply to the stale and soot clogged air of London. She breathed it in in huge gulpfuls, feeling tears of joy begin to well up in her eyes.

They rode in silence at first, keeping a fast pace, at times urging their horses into a gallop across the moor. Mary marvelled at how much easier it was to ride astride, while wearing men's trousers, and idly wondered at what the good folk of Thwaite village would think to see the young Niece of Lord Craven wearing men's trousers. They rode neck in neck, winding their way through the heather. As they rode, Dickon pointed out the various birds native to the moor – red grouse, golden plovers, and merlin. She had always known that Dickon had an extensive knowledge of the moor and all the creatures that lived upon it, but still she couldn't help feeling impressed at the extent of his knowledge.

Anticipation began to build regarding where he was taking her. She had stayed up late the night before, running possibilities through her mind. Would he be taking her to the coast? To see the ocean? Were they heading towards the river? To one of the highest peaks on the moor? She had no idea. As annoyed as she was at not knowing, she did love to be surprised.

'Almost there.' said Dickon, ahead of her, as if he had read her thoughts. 'Just through these hills.'

His voice sounded slightly detached, as if he was nervous, and trying not to show it. She urged her horse into a trot, and pulled up alongside him.

'What's through these hills?' she wondered out loud.

'Do you trust me, Mary?' he asked her, suddenly.

She looked at him intently. Surely he knew that she trusted him, that she had always trusted him, that she thought him the most trustworthy person she had ever met? She spoke truthfully.

'I trust you Dickon. I trust you more than anyone else.'

Her answer was so honest, so frank. Dickon looked unexpectedly moved. 'Tha' does? Even after all that has -'

'I do.' she replied, stopping his words.

He nodded, looking relieved, and reached into his pocket. 'Good. That's good. Then tha' won't mind coverin' tha' eyes wi' this?'

'A blindfold?' she raised her eyebrows in astonishment.

'Aye. I want t' surprise thee – an we're verra close now.'

'I ...' she paused. Dickon appeared anxious, as though worried she would refuse. She nodded her head, obliging. 'Very well then.'

'Pass me your reins. I'll lead thee.'

She took the strip of black fabric, tying it around her face, until it covered her eyes. They proceeded at a slow pace. She held onto the pommel of the saddle, feeling the horse moving beneath her. Through the bottom of the blindfold she could see greenery move by beneath them, but not much else. Anticipation continued to build inside her, taking over every other emotion. She swallowed nervously, and took deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. _Just relax_, she told herself, _everything will be fine_. Yet relaxing at that very moment was impossible. Dickon had something he wanted to show her, and she sensed that it was something significant.

Presently she both felt and heard the soft heather of the moor give way to gravel, and curiosity fill her. They appeared to be on some sort of road.

'You'll need t' get down now.' Dickon said shortly afterwards, and she could hear his voice shaking slightly. 'I'll help thee.'

She heard him dismount from his horse and walk around to her. 'I'm right here, Mary.' he said, and she felt his hand on her thigh.

It felt strange dismounting from her horse without being able to see where she was, or any of their surroundings. She brought her leg up slowly, and felt Dickon's hands guiding her down from the horse, until her feet touched the gravel.

'Are we there?' she said breathlessly. 'Can I take off the blindfold yet?'

'Not yet.' he replied, 'but soon, I promise.'

He took her hand and they walked forward slowly. For all that she was confused and on edge, she felt complete faith and assurance in Dickon. They walked together in silence, and she gripped his hand tightly. As they walked, her nose began to pick up the scent of jasmine, and daphne, tingled with rosemary. It only added to the mystery.

Presently, he stopped.

'This is it. This is what I've been wanting t' show thee for a long time now.'

Her heart was pounding in her excitement, and her mind flew with possibilities. She felt Dickon reach up behind her head and untie the blindfold, until at last he drew it away from her eyes.

'I'd like t' welcome you t' my home.'

She gasped in astonishment and delight as her eyes took in the small stone cottage that stood in front of her.

'Oh Dickon! It's ... it's lovely!' she cried in delight.

Indeed it was lovely. Her eyes widened at the sight of the small cottage that was surrounded by plants of every description, dripping with colour, fragrance heavy in the air.

Dickon's house was surrounded by a low stone wall, in which flowers had been planted in the crevices. An archway covered in red roses stood at each end of the wall, before the footpath up to the house. They walked towards it now, Mary delighting in the garden, as it began to be revealed to her. Plants of every colour and variety surrounded the little stone cottage – from climbing jasmine, to roses, lavender, rosemary and daphne. They walked under the archway and Mary glanced up, to see the blue sky through the leaves. She felt tears of happiness spring to her eyes. This was Dickon's home, and it was so lovely – a little slice of paradise – a garden that he had created.

She looked under her feet at the path of white gravel that ran up to the house. Snowdrops and bluebells lined the path, providing a stark contrast to the green of the grass that lay beside them. Wordlessly, the two of them walked, hand in hand.

They reached the front door, and stood facing each other. Mary reached out and took Dickon's hands then looked up into his eyes, seeing the tenderness and love that lay there.

'Does tha' like it?' he whispered.

She felt tears spring to her eyes. Words couldn't describe how much she adored it already – from the small cottage, to the beautiful garden. All she knew was that standing here with Dickon, there was no where else she would rather be in the entire world. She had travelled, always searching for meaning, for a home. She had found it at Misselthwaite, as a child, but now she had found something far more important. Love.

'I love it, Dickon. All of it.' she whispered.

Relief crossed his features, yet he still appeared nervous.

'That wasn't the only thing I wanted t' show thee.' he swallowed hard.

He reached down into his trouser pocket.

'This.' he said breathlessly, holding out a small band of gold.

'Oh Dickon!' she gasped.

A kaleidoscope of images flashed through her mind – the two of them, digging and laughing in the garden as children, Dickon showing her the Robin's nest, swimming in the river together, planning for Colin's surprise birthday party, the first kiss they shared in the garden. She had watched the boy grow into a handsome and strong man, a man who could always make her laugh, a man who she trusted more than anyone else in the world. In the space of ten years, Dickon had come to mean so much to her, she knew it now. He was someone she never wanted to live without.

The gold sparkled in the sun, and she took a deep breath, the moment still around her – the soft breeze, the warmth of the sun on her back, The deep blue of Dickon's eyes, the scent of roses and lavender.

'I don't have much.' he was saying, 'apart from my love for you. But I will share with you all that I have, and I will care for thee forever.'

Tears streamed in rivulets down her cheeks as he spoke. His words rang out, pure and true. She knew that he meant every word. She wiped her tears away with a trembling hand, then met his eyes. Too choked with emotion to speak, she held her hand out, and felt Dickon slide the small band of gold onto her ring finger. Then he leaned down and kissed her gently.

She closed her eyes, feeling Dickon's lips touch her own, seeming to awaken some place deep down inside her. She deepened the kiss, reaching up to pull him closer towards her, wanting him with a passion she had not felt before. They broke apart, and she heard Dickon let out a shaking breath. He took her hand, a questioning look come into his eyes, and she understood. No words were needed. She nodded her head, and followed him into the house.

It was dim, yet warm inside the stone cottage, the scent of jasmine permeating the air, flowing in from outside. She could smell the rough earth of the floor, and the starchiness of freshly washed linen. They passed through the main room, and into a smaller adjourning room. Her heart pounded in excitement. Dickon's bedroom.

They sat down together on his bed, sinking into the soft mattress. She leant back, pulling Dickon down next to her, so they were laying side by side. He reached up, running his fingers through her hair with great tenderness. She felt overwhelmed by the warmth and nearness of him, not quite knowing where to begin. Wanting to feel the warmth of his body, she pulled him closer towards him.

'Mary.' he whispered, lightly kissing her neck. He moved his lips down further, leaving a trail of kisses, each one making her tingle all the way down inside. The sensations were so new, so startling, yet so welcome. She hadn't realised that Dickon could make her feel this way. She didn't want him to stop. She held her breath, feeling his soft kisses, and realised that she was shivering slightly – although not from cold.

Her trembling fingers found the buttons of Dickon's shirt, and she undid them, one by one. She reached up inside, feeling his warm skin beneath her fingertips, smooth and supple. She stroked him lightly, running her fingers down his back, then around to the front of his chest, where she placed her palm gently above his heart.

'I can feel your heartbeat' she whispered.

'Aye,' Dickon murmured, closing his eyes, and letting out his breath deeply.

'It seems to be beating very fast.' she commented softly. 'How strange.'

Dickon's hands found the bottom of her shirt, and he gently pulled it out from where it was tucked into her trousers. He then moved his hands towards the buttons on the front of her shirt, but his hands were trembling so much that he could not undo them. She gently placed her hand on top of his.

'Let me.' she whispered.

She slowly unbuttoned her shirt, until it lay open, exposing her corset.

'Is tha' sure?' asked Dickon, his breath ragged. She saw fear lurking in his eyes, but also an eagerness, that seemed to reflect how she felt. She nodded. 'I'm sure.'

The sun fell, warm on her skin, as Dickon peeled back her corset. She looked up and saw tears in the corners of his eyes. 'You are so beautiful.' he said huskily. He reached down to kiss her, and she felt the warmth of his skin as it met hers, felt them begin to join in a way that felt so natural, so intimate. Time passed slowly, an eternity stretching out before them, and presently, Mary heard herself cry out in pain, then in pleasure, heard Dickon's voice mirroring her own. Finally, they lay together, exhausted but satisfied, wrapped in each other's arms, two entities blending into one.

* * *

Dickon nervously moved weight from foot to foot, trying to dispell some of the nervousness he felt.

'Dickon, for goodness sake, can't you be still? She will be here any moment.'

Dickon looked over at the grinning face of his childhood friend. Colin touched his arm gently.

'Take a deep breath and just relax.'

He tried to take his mind off his impending nuptials, and cast his eyes from the door of the church to the familiar faces seated before him. There in the front row was his Mother and Father, his siblings. Seated behind them, Martha and her family. His older sister met his eye and waved at him. Dickon returned the gesture.

Many people from Misselthwaite manor has also assembled. He could see Mrs Medlock, old Ben Weatherstaff (who surely hadn't just dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief?), Sarah Clare, his old workmates – they had all turned out to watch him, Dickon Sowerby, marry Mary Lennox.

He could hardly believe that this day had come at last, that it was real, that it was really happening. That he, Dickon Sowerby, was about to be married to the woman he loved more than anything in the entire world. He wondered how he could have got so lucky.

_Of course I'll marry you Dickon,_ Mary had said to him as they lay in bed together. He recalled how she had stroked his forehead with her small hands, and how the band of gold had sparkled in the sunlight. _'Don't you know that you are what I have always wanted?'_

A hush descended over the crowd.

'There she is!' Colin exclaimed in excitement.

Dickon looked towards the back of the church, and felt his heart swell with emotion.

A young woman, clad in a gown of white lace walked forward slowly, on the arm of an older man whose long hair was streaked with grey. Dickon looked up and met the eye of his former employer – Archibald Craven, and saw the proud expression on the older man's face.

Dickon lifted his eyes, and met those of his bride.

Mary Lennox was smiling, and the smile lit up her face in a radiant glow. Her eyes sparkled with tears of happiness. Dickon felt his heart skip a beat. She looked so beautiful and pure.

At last they reached him. The moment had finally arrived. He held out his arms in welcome, and she stepped towards him willingly. Dickon took her hands in his, and there they stood, waiting for the priest to begin, for their life together to start at last.

The end.


	22. Chapter 22

**Yes, the time has finally come to leave this story - and I'm loath to leave it behind, but it is now complete. I have written this epilogue for those that requested it. You don't have to read it as the end of 'Beyond' - you could consider the end of chapter 21 'the end' and just leave it at that. Or you can read right to the end of the epilogue. It's up to you! Needless to say, it has been a real pleasure writing this story, and huge appreciation goes out to all the reviewers, who kept me going right up till the end. **

**I've leave you with a poem from Charlotte Bronte. Thanks so much for everything! xx Elyzia.  
**

**Speak of the North! a lonely moor,**

**Silent and dark and tractless swells,**

**The waves of some wild streamlet poor,**

**Hurridly through its ferny dells.**

**Profoundly still the twilight air,**

**Listless the landscape; so we deem  
**

**Till, like a phantom gliding near  
**

**A stag bends down to drink the stream.**

**And far away, a mountain zone,**

**A cold, white waste land of snow drifts lies,**

**And one star, large and soft and lone,**

**Silently lights the unclouded skies.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 22**

**Epilogue**

The young woman sat in the middle of her garden, enjoying the late afternoon sun on her back. A warm breeze stirred around her, carrying with it the smell of all the flowers that were in bloom in the garden, and the pink heather that grew prolifically in the surrounding moor. She closed her eyes and listened for a moment at the sounds that came her way – the swishing of the wind through the heather, the droning of the bees as they flew from flower to flower, and the twittering of the sparrows that hopped and chirped.

She looked down at the blank piece of paper that lay on her lap, laying flat on an old gardening book. A small smile came over her face. She took her pen, paused for a second and bit her lip thoughtfully, and then began to write, her pen skimming over the page as she picked up inspiration.

_My dear Cousin_,

_Thank you for your letter – it arrived in the post yesterday. I hope that this letter finds you well – and that you stay true to your promise of coming to visit us this Christmas. Dickon, Lily, and I are looking forward to seeing you!_

Mary looked fondly down at her daughter, who was amusing herself by playing in the garden. The breeze lifted the young girl's golden hair, casting it around her head like a halo.

_As you know, Lily will be three years old at the end of the year. Perhaps you will be able to help us celebrate her birthday. I'm sure you'll be happy to know that early next year there will be another 'addition' to the family, and another niece or nephew for 'Uncle Colin' to play with when he comes to visit. As you can imagine, Dickon was very excited when he found out, and wasted no time in telling everyone we knew! He is a very proud Father. _

_Yesterday, we took Lily to visit Uncle Archie at Misselthwaite. You would have laughed at the fuss it caused! The staff seemed to 'forget' their duties, and find reason to be in the sitting room with us, at some time or other. Mrs Medlock was most attentive, insisting that Lily have extra helpings of sweet tea and muffins – not even complaining at the amount of it that ended up on the floor and the upholstery of the furniture!_

_After eating, we went for a walk through the gardens. Dickon was pleased to catch up with his old workmates, and pay a visit to Ben Weatherstaff, who continues in his retirement. While Dickon was busy, I took Lily to see the Secret Garden._

_You'll be pleased to know that we have kept our promise and that the Secret Garden is always open now – for anyone that wishes to go there. It is still so beautiful, Colin – the roses are all out and are in full bloom – I swear every year there seems to be more of them! It still retains that same wild and otherworldly feel to it that its had from when we were children. But it is so beautiful. I can't wait to go there one sunny day in the future with you, Dickon and the children. To think that it has been twelve years since we first discovered the Secret Garden. So much has changed since then, hasn't it, Colin? Dickon and I married, you studying towards a degree of Science at Cambridge University... I don't know about you, but sometimes I feel as though I have lived a while lifetime in only 22 years..._

_I will take the time to fill you in on how Dickon's business venture has been progressing. It was certainly 'hard going' (to quote my husband) at first, but over the past year things have really started to go smoothly. Dickon often says that he can't believe no one ever thought of it before – contracting someone to help others with their gardens. He not only helps maintain and change what they have already, but he helps design gardens from scratch. Although I don't think he has built any 'Secret' gardens yet! Of course, you never know what the future will bring, but I would like to think that our Secret Garden remains unique. I suppose only time will tell. _

Mary put down her pen and paper, then got up rather awkwardly, placing her hand on her back. She slowly walked over to where her daughter was sitting, and sat down next to her, in the cool shade of the plum tree.

'What are you doing, Lily?' she asked.

'It's a garden Mama!' the young girl pointed seriously to the little pile of sticks and flower heads in front of her. 'I'm making a garden.'

'That's lovely my darling.' Mary replied, fondly ruffling her daughter's hair. Mary looked as Lily turned her large blue eyes up to meet hers. Dickon's eyes. She sighed, a soft smile forming on her lips, as she remembered another garden, long ago.

'Can I show Daddy?' the girl asked.

'Of course you can! I think he'll be delighted with your "garden". Shall we go and wait for him by the gate?'

She took her daughters chubby hand in her own, and together they walked over to the gate that separated their little piece of paradise from the gravel road. Mary pointed out the red roses that had bloomed over the archway of the gate, lifting Lily up so she could get a closer look at them. Presently, she saw the dark outline of a horse and rider, against the backdrop of the moor. She lifted her hand and waved a greeting.

'Daddy, Daddy!' Lily shouted, squirming with excitement in her arms. 'Mama! Daddy's home!' Mary could not help but smile happily. Her daughter's enthusiasm, and toothy grin always served to remind her that life was indeed good.

She saw Dickon laugh as he rode up to them, strong and confident. He jumped down from his horse, choosing to walk and lead it behind him. Mary laughed back as Lily ran up to him, and he received her with open arms. She watched with tenderness as he gently took the young girl in his arms, and carried her, balancing her on his hip.

'How are my two favourite girls t'day?' he asked, as he drew nearer. Mary felt happiness welling up inside her. Dickon often greeted the two of them with that phrase.

'We're good.' Mary replied, nearing him 'You'll be pleased to know that your daughter appears to be following in her Father's footsteps.'

'Aye?' he said, cocking his head to one side.

'She has begun another "Garden".' Mary smiled.

Dickon put his arm around her, and pulled her tightly towards him. 'Perhaps not only followin' in my footsteps?' he said softly, kissing her forehead.

Much later, once Lily had been put to bed, and the sun was beginning to set over the moors, Mary picked up her pen and continued the letter to her Cousin.

_I know you wrote of being hopelessly in love with Samantha Sutherland, in your last letter. Please Colin, give the poor girl a break and propose to her for goodness sake! Don't keep her waiting another six years! I'm beginning to wonder if I need to come to London myself and slap you for being such a Rajah?!_

_You asked me if life was good. It is good, Colin, it is so wonderful, and in so many ways. How is it wonderful? It is wonderful having people to love in my life – Dickon, Lily, you of course, and so many others. It is wonderful being here amongst nature – seeing the seasons unfold, seeing the beautiful colours of all the seasons, taking deep breaths of the air from the moor. It is wonderful in that I am happy, finally happy. I wouldn't wish for anything to change – not one thing. _

She put her pen down and took a deep breath of the twilight air. She heard Dickon come up behind her, and presently she felt his warm arms around her shoulders. He reached around and kissed her softly on the cheek, his lips lingering near hers for a second.

'I see that you're writin' t' Colin again?' he commented softly, and she felt his breath warm on her face, sending a shiver down her spine. Delicious thoughts of being alone with him, that they had the entire evening to themselves. She felt a quiver of anticipation pass through her. 'Come inside, th' letter can wait.'

She turned around, into his deep blue eyes.

'I'll come inside once I've finished.' she scolded playfully. She turned back to the letter, a tiny sliver of regret passing through her as she heard Dickon walk away, chuckling quietly.

'Still my contrary wee lass, eh!'

'As contrary as ever.' she agreed, privately pleased at his teasing. 'I'll be there in a minute.'

She sat back, watching the sky, fixated by the way the colours gradually changed, the azure blue giving way to gold and vibrant orange. She watched, breathless, at the beginning of twilight, listening to the sounds of the birds and creatures of the moor settle down for the night. Another day was ending, with the promise of a new day not far away. She sighed, got up slowly, and stepped inside to where Dickon was waiting for her. Life was indeed good.


End file.
